“Open, Monsieur Derues,” said a voice which he recognised as that of a woman of Chartres whose affairs he managed, and who had entrusted him with sundry deeds in order that he might receive the money due to her.  This woman had begun to entertain doubts as to Derues’ honesty, and as she was leaving Paris the next day, had resolved to get the papers out of his hands.

“Open the door,” she repeated.  “Don’t you know my voice?”

“I am sorry I cannot let you in.  My servant is out:  she has taken the key and locked the door outside.”

“You must let me in,” the woman continued; “it is absolutely necessary I should speak to you.”

“Come to-morrow.”

“I leave Paris to-morrow, and I must have those papers to-night.”

He again refused, but she spoke firmly and decidedly.  “I must come in.  The porter said you were all out, but, from the rue des Menetriers I could see the light in your room.  My brother is with me, and I left him below.  I shall call him if you don’t open the door.”

“Come in, then,” said Derues; “your papers are in the sitting-room.  Wait here, and I will fetch them.”  The woman looked at him and took his hand.  “Heavens! how pale you are!  What is the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter:  will you wait here?  “But she would not release his arm, and followed him into the sitting-room, where Derues began to seek hurriedly among the various papers which covered a table.  “Here they are,” he said; “now you can go.”

“Really,” said the woman, examining her deeds carefully, “never yet did I see you in such a hurry to give up things which don’t belong to you.  But do hold that candle steadily; your hand is shaking so that I cannot see to read.”

At that moment the silence which prevailed all round was broken by a cry of anguish, a long groan proceeding from the chamber to the right of the sitting-room.

“What is that?” cried the woman.  “Surely it is a dying person!”

The sense of the danger which threatened made Derues pull himself together.  “Do not be alarmed,” he said.  “My wife has been seized with a violent fever; she is quite delirious now, and that is why I told the porter to let no one come up.”

But the groans in the next room continued, and the unwelcome visitor, overcome by terror which she could neither surmount nor explain, took a hasty leave, and descended the staircase with all possible rapidity.  As soon as he could close the door, Derues returned to the bedroom.

Nature frequently collects all her expiring strength at the last moment of existence.  The unhappy lady struggled beneath her coverings; the agony she suffered had given her a convulsive energy, and inarticulate sounds proceeded from her mouth.  Derues approached and held her on the bed.  She sank back on the pillow, shuddering convulsively, her hands plucking and twisting the sheets, her teeth chattering and biting