Claes made an affirmative sign and bowed his head, the hair of which was now white.

“Monsieur de Solis knows the Happe and Duncker families of Amsterdam; they have a mania for pictures, and are anxious, like all parvenus, to display a luxury which ought to belong only to the old families:  he thinks they will pay the full value of ours.  By this means we can recover our independence, and out of the purchase money, which will amount to over one hundred thousand ducats, you will have enough to continue the experiments.  Your daughters and I will be content with very little; we can fill up the empty frames with other pictures in course of time and by economy; meantime you will be happy.”

Balthazar raised his head and looked at his wife with a joy that was mingled with fear.  Their roles were changed.  The wife was the protector of the husband.  He, so tender, he, whose heart was so at one with his Pepita’s, now held her in his arms without perceiving the horrible convulsion that made her palpitate, and even shook her hair and her lips with a nervous shudder.

“I dared not tell you,” he said, “that between me and the Unconditioned, the Absolute, scarcely a hair’s breadth intervenes.  To gasify metals, I only need to find the means of submitting them to intense heat in some centre where the pressure of the atmosphere is nil,—­in short, in a vacuum.”

Madame Claes could not endure the egotism of this reply.  She expected a passionate acknowledgment of her sacrifices—­she received a problem in chemistry!  The poor woman left her husband abruptly and returned to the parlor, where she fell into a chair between her frightened daughters, and burst into tears.  Marguerite and Felicie took her hands, kneeling one on each side of her, not knowing the cause of her grief, and asking at intervals, “Mother, what is it?”

“My poor children, I am dying; I feel it.”

The answer struck home to Marguerite’s heart; she saw, for the first time on her mother’s face, the signs of that peculiar pallor which only comes on olive-tinted skins.

“Martha, Martha!” cried Felicie, “come quickly; mamma wants you.”

The old duenna ran in from the kitchen, and as soon as she saw the livid hue of the dusky skin usually high-colored, she cried out in Spanish,—­

“Body of Christ! madame is dying!”

Then she rushed precipitately back, told Josette to heat water for a footbath, and returned to the parlor.

“Don’t alarm Monsieur Claes; say nothing to him, Martha,” said her mistress.  “My poor dear girls,” she added, pressing Marguerite and Felicie to her heart with a despairing action; “I wish I could live long enough to see you married and happy.  Martha,” she continued, “tell Lemulquinier to go to Monsieur de Solis and ask him in my name to come here.”