But the old gentleman did not think himself bound to respect it; and,
exasperated as he was by this resignation of his grandchild, he was
on the point of telling her his mind fully, when she got up with some
effort, and said, in an almost inaudible voice,--

"I am broken to pieces! Excuse me, grandpapa, if I go to my room." She
left the parlor. M. de Chandore accompanied her to the door, remained
there till he had seen her get up stairs, where her maid was waiting for
her, and then came back to M. Folgat.

"They are going to kill me, sir!" he cried, with an explosion of wrath
and despair which was almost frightful in a man of his age. "She had in
her eyes the same look that her mother had when she told me, after her
husband's death, 'I shall not survive him.' And she did not survive my
poor son. And then I, old man, was left alone with that child; and who
knows but she may have in her the germ of the same disease which killed
her mother? Alone! And for these twenty years I have held my breath to
listen if she is still breathing as naturally and regularly"--

"You are needlessly alarmed," began the advocate.

But Grandpapa Chandore shook his head, and said,--

"No, no. I fear my child has been hurt in her heart's heart. Did you not
see how white she looked, and how faint her voice was? Great God! wilt
thou leave me all alone here upon earth? O God! for which of my sins
dost thou punish me in my children? For mercy's sake, call me home
before she also leaves me, who is the joy of my life. And I can do
nothing to turn aside this fatality--stupid inane old man that I am! And
this Jacques de Boiscoran--if he were guilty, after all? Ah the wretch!