In less than a second, a thousand strange and contradictory
suppositions darted through his brain. Who, then, could this girl
be, if she were not Mademoiselle de Chalusse? What right had she
in that house? How was it that she reigned as a sovereign there?
Above all, why this angry outburst for no other apparent cause
than a very natural and exceedingly insignificant request on his
part?

However, she had regained her self-possession, and it was easy to
see by her manner that she was seeking some means of escape from
threatened danger. At last she found it. "Casimir," she said,
authoritatively, "search M. de Chalusse's pocket for the key of
his escritoire."

Astonished by what he regarded as a new caprice, the valet obeyed.
He gathered up the garments strewn over the floor, and eventually
drew a key from one of the waistcoat pockets. Mademoiselle
Marguerite took it from him, and then in a determined tone,
exclaimed: "A hammer."

It was brought; whereupon, to the profound amazement of the
physician, she knelt down beside the fireplace, laid the key upon
one of the andirons, and with a heavy blow of the hammer, broke it
into fragments. "Now," said she, quietly, "my mind will be at
rest. I am certain," she added, turning toward the servants,
"that M. de Chalusse would approve what I have done. When he
recovers, he will have another key made."

The explanation was superfluous. All the servants understood the