"Not very well, sir. He will not be here long."

The floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was
covered with a Persian rug; the large windows looked upon the
village and the sea.

Duroy murmured: "How cozy it is here! Where the deuce do they get
the money from?"

The rustling of a gown caused him to turn. Mme. Forestier extended
both her hands, saying:

"How kind of you to come."

She was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as bright as ever, and
perhaps prettier for being more delicate. She whispered: "It is
terrible--he knows he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. I
have told him of your arrival. But where is your trunk?"

Duroy replied: "I left it at the station, not knowing which hotel
you would advise me to stop at, in order to be near you."

She hesitated, then said: "You must stop here, at the villa. Your
chamber is ready. He might die any moment, and if it should come in
the night, I would be alone. I will send for your luggage."

He bowed. "As you will."

"Now, let us go upstairs," said she; he followed her. She opened a