On his return home, the unhappy lawyer was told that his mother’s reason was in danger.  Doctor Bianchon, Doctor Larabit, and Professor Angard had met in consultation, and were prepared to apply heroic remedies to hinder the rush of blood to the head.  At the moment when Victorin was listening to Doctor Bianchon, who was giving him, at some length, his reasons for hoping that the crisis might be got over, the man-servant announced that a client, Madame de Saint-Esteve, was waiting to see him.  Victorin left Bianchon in the middle of a sentence and flew downstairs like a madman.

“Is there any hereditary lunacy in the family?” said Bianchon, addressing Larabit.

The doctors departed, leaving a hospital attendant, instructed by them, to watch Madame Hulot.

“A whole life of virtue!——­” was the only sentence the sufferer had spoken since the attack.

Lisbeth never left Adeline’s bedside; she sat up all night, and was much admired by the two younger women.

“Well, my dear Madame de Saint-Esteve,” said Victorin, showing the dreadful old woman into his study and carefully shutting the doors, “how are we getting on?”

“Ah, ha! my dear friend,” said she, looking at Victorin with cold irony.  “So you have thought things over?”

“Have you done anything?”

“Will you pay fifty thousand francs?”

“Yes,” replied Victorin, “for we must get on.  Do you know that by one single phrase that woman has endangered my mother’s life and reason?  So, I say, get on.”

“We have got on!” replied the old woman.

“Well?” cried Victorin, with a gulp.

“Well, you do not cry off the expenses?”

“On the contrary.”

“They run up to twenty-three thousand francs already.”

Victorin looked helplessly at the woman.

“Well, could we hoodwink you, you, one of the shining lights of the law?” said she.  “For that sum we have secured a maid’s conscience and a picture by Raphael.—­It is not dear.”

Hulot, still bewildered, sat with wide open eyes.

“Well, then,” his visitor went on, “we have purchased the honesty of Mademoiselle Reine Tousard, a damsel from whom Madame Marneffe has no secrets—­”

“I understand!”

“But if you shy, say so.”

“I will play blindfold,” he replied.  “My mother has told me that that couple deserve the worst torments—­”

“The rack is out of date,” said the old woman.

“You answer for the result?”

“Leave it all to me,” said the woman; “your vengeance is simmering.”

She looked at the clock; it was six.

“Your avenger is dressing; the fires are lighted at the Rocher de Cancale; the horses are pawing the ground; my irons are getting hot.  —­Oh, I know your Madame Marneffe by heart!—­Everything is ready.  And there are some boluses in the rat-trap; I will tell you to-morrow morning if the mouse is poisoned.  I believe she will be; good evening, my son.”