its hinges, and a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Marechal flew to
the window, and uttered one word,

"Cayrol!"

Madame Desvarennes motioned to him to leave her, and the banker appeared
on the threshold.

At a glance the mistress saw the ravages which the terrible night he had
passed through had caused. Yesterday, the banker was rosy, firm, and
upright as an oak, now he was bent, and withered like an old man. His
hair had become gray about the temples, as if scorched by his burning
thoughts. He was only the shadow of himself.

Madame Desvarennes advanced toward him, and in one word asked a world of
questions.

"Well?" she said.

Cayrol, gloomy and fierce, raised his eyes to the mistress, and answered:

"Nothing!"

"Did he not come?"

"Yes, he came. But I had not the necessary energy to kill him. I
thought it was an easier matter to become a murderer. And you thought so
too, eh?"

"Cayrol!" cried Madame Desvarennes, shuddering, and troubled to find