Sauvresy had overtasked his strength.  He fell panting upon the bed, his mouth open, his eyes filmy, and his features so distorted that he seemed to be on the point of death.  But neither Bertha nor Tremorel thought of trying to relieve him.  They remained opposite each other with dilated eyes, stupefied, as if their thoughts were bent upon the torments of that future which the implacable vengeance of the man whom they had outraged imposed upon them.  They were indissolubly united, confounded in a common destiny; nothing could separate them but death.  A chain stronger and harder than that of the galley-slave bound them together; a chain of infamies and crimes, of which the first link was a kiss, and the last a murder by poison.  Now Sauvresy might die; his vengeance was on their heads, casting a cloud upon their sun.  Free in appearance, they would go through life crushed by the burden of the past, more slaves than the blacks in the American rice-fields.  Separated by mutual hate and contempt, they saw themselves riveted together by the common terror of punishment, condemned to an eternal embrace.

Bertha at this moment admired her husband.  Now that he was so feeble that he breathed as painfully as an infant, she looked upon him as something superhuman.  She had had no idea of such constancy and courage allied with so much dissimulation and genius.  How cunningly he had found them out!  How well he had known how to avenge himself!  To be the master, he had only to will it.  In a certain way she rejoiced in the strange atrocity of this scene; she felt something like a bitter pride in being one of the actors in it.  At the same time she was transported with rage and sorrow in thinking that she had had this man in her power, that he had been at her feet.  She almost loved him.  Of all men, it was he whom she would have chosen were she mistress of her destinies; and he was going to escape her.

Tremorel, while these strange ideas crowded upon Bertha’s mind, began to come to himself.  The certainty that Laurence was now forever lost for him occurred to him, and his despair was without bounds.  The silence continued a full quarter of an hour.  Sauvresy at last subdued the spasm which had exhausted him, and spoke.

“I have not said all yet,” he commenced.

His voice was as feeble as a murmur, and yet it seemed terrible to his hearers.

“You shall see whether I have reckoned and foreseen well.  Perhaps, when I was dead, the idea of flying and going abroad would strike you.  I shall not permit that.  You must stay at Orcival—­at Valfeuillu.  A—­friend—­not he with the package—­is charged, without knowing the reason for it, with the task of watching you.  Mark well what I say—­if either of you should disappear for eight days, on the ninth, the man who has the package would receive a letter which would cause him to resort at once to the police.”

Yes, he had foreseen all, and Tremorel, who had already thought of flight, was overwhelmed.