those bad things there that I have told you of."

This was decisive; she ran to take the key from the drawer, and she
herself opened wide the press.

"There, grandmother, the papers are up there."

Martine had gone, without a word, to station herself at the door of
the doctor's chamber, her ear on the alert, listening to the pestle,
while Felicite, as if riveted to the spot by emotion, regarded the
papers. At last, there they were, those terrible documents, the
nightmare that had poisoned her life! She saw them, she was going to
touch them, to carry them away! And she reached up, straining her
little legs, in the eagerness of her desire.

"It is too high, my kitten," she said. "Help me; give them to me!"

"Oh! not that, grandmother! Take a chair!"

Felicite took a chair, and mounted slowly upon it. But she was still
too short. By an extraordinary effort she raised herself, lengthening
her stature until she was able to touch the envelopes of strong blue
paper with the tips of her fingers; and her fingers traveled over
them, contracting nervously, scratching like claws. Suddenly there was
a crash--it was a geological specimen, a fragment of marble that had
been on a lower shelf, and that she had just thrown down.

Instantly the pestle stopped, and Martine said in a stifled voice:

"Take care; here he comes!"