twitches which contracted and twisted his limbs, especially his arms.  He cried out with excruciating neuralgic pains in the face.  He was seized with a violent, persistent, tenacious craving for pepper, which nothing could assuage.  He was sleepless, and morphine in large doses failed to bring him slumber; while he felt an intense chill within him, as if the body’s temperature were gradually diminishing.  Delirium had completely disappeared, and the sick man retained perfectly the clearness of his mind.  Sauvresy bore up wonderfully under his pains, and seemed to take a new interest in the business of his estates.  He was constantly in consultation with bailiffs and agents, and shut himself up for days together with notaries and attorneys.  Then, saying that he must have distractions, he received all his friends, and when no one called, he sent for some acquaintance to come and chat with him in order to forget his illness.  He gave no hint of what he was doing and thinking, and Bertha was devoured by anxiety.  She often watched for her husband’s agent, when, after a conference of several hours, he came out of his room; and making herself as sweet and fascinating as possible, she used all her cunning to find out something which would enlighten her as to what he was about.  But no one could, or at least would, satisfy her curiosity; all gave evasive replies, as if Sauvresy had cautioned them, or as if there were nothing to tell.

No complaints were heard from Sauvresy.  He talked constantly of Bertha and Hector; he wished all the world to know their devotion to him; he called them his “guardian angels,” and blessed Heaven that had given him such a wife and such a friend.  Sauvresy’s illness now became so serious that Tremorel began to despair; he became alarmed; what position would his friend’s death leave him in?  Bertha, having become a widow, would be implacable.  He resolved to find out her inmost thoughts at the first opportunity; she anticipated him, and saved him the trouble of broaching the subject.  One afternoon, when they were alone, M. Plantat being in attendance at the sick man’s bedside, Bertha commenced.

“I want some advice, Hector, and you alone can give it to me.  How can I find out whether Clement, within the past day or two, has not changed his will in regard to me?”

“His will?”

“Yes, I’ve already told you that by a will of which I myself have a copy, Sauvresy has left me his whole fortune.  I fear that he may perhaps revoke it.”

“What an idea!”

“Ah, I have reasons for my apprehensions.  What are all these agents and attorneys doing at Valfeuillu?  A stroke of this man’s pen may ruin me.  Don’t you see that he can deprive me of his millions, and reduce me to my dowry of fifty thousand francs?”

“But he will not do it; he loves you—­”

“Are you sure of it?  I’ve told you, there are three millions; I must have this fortune—­not for myself, but for you; I want it, I must have it!  But how can I find out—­how? how?”