The shock of this attack extended to the kitchen.  Josette and Martha, both devoted to Madame Claes and her daughters, felt the blow in their own affections.  Martha’s dreadful announcement,—­“Madame is dying; monsieur must have killed her; get ready a mustard-bath,”—­forced certain exclamations from Josette, which she launched at Lemulquinier.  He, cold and impassive, went on eating at the corner of a table before one of the windows of the kitchen, where all was kept as clean as the boudoir of a fine lady.

“I knew how it would end,” said Josette, glancing at the valet and mounting a stool to take down a copper kettle that shone like gold.  “There’s no mother could stand quietly by and see a father amusing himself by chopping up a fortune like his into sausage-meat.”

Josette, whose head was covered by a round cap with crimped borders, which made it look like a German nut-cracker, cast a sour look at Lemulquinier, which the greenish tinge of her prominent little eyes made almost venomous.  The old valet shrugged his shoulders with a motion worthy of Mirobeau when irritated; then he filled his large mouth with bread and butter sprinkled with chopped onion.

“Instead of thwarting monsieur, madame ought to give him more money,” he said; “and then we should soon be rich enough to swim in gold.  There’s not the thickness of a farthing between us and—­”

“Well, you’ve got twenty thousand francs laid by; why don’t you give ’em to monsieur? he’s your master, and if you are so sure of his doings—­”

“You don’t know anything about them, Josette.  Mind your pots and pans, and heat the water,” remarked the old Fleming, interrupting the cook.

“I know enough to know there used to be several thousand ounces of silver-ware about this house which you and your master have melted up; and if you are allowed to have your way, you’ll make ducks and drakes of everything till there’s nothing left.”

“And monsieur,” added Martha, entering the kitchen, “will kill madame, just to get rid of a woman who restrains him and won’t let him swallow up everything he’s got.  He’s possessed by the devil; anybody can see that.  You don’t risk your soul in helping him, Mulquinier, because you haven’t got any; look at you! sitting there like a bit of ice when we are all in such distress; the young ladies are crying like two Magdalens.  Go and fetch Monsieur l’Abbe de Solis.”

“I’ve got something to do for monsieur.  He told me to put the laboratory in order,” said the valet.  “Besides, it’s too far—­go yourself.”

“Just hear the brute!” cried Martha.  “Pray who is to give madame her foot-bath? do you want her to die? she has got a rush of blood to the head.”

“Mulquinier,” said Marguerite, coming into the servants’ hall, which adjoined the kitchen, “on your way back from Monsieur de Solis, call at Dr. Pierquin’s house and ask him to come here at once.”

“Ha! you’ve got to go now,” said Josette.