He had never seen her so pale and so deeply moved. She murmured: “He is dead.”
“Ah!—and he did not say anything?”
“Nothing. He had lost consciousness when I arrived.”
George was thinking. Questions rose to his lips that he did not dare to put. “Come to bed,” said he.
She undressed rapidly, and slipped into bed beside him, when he resumed: “Were there any relations present at his deathbed?”
“Only a nephew.”
“Ah! Did he see this nephew often?”
“Never. They had not met for ten years.”
“Had he any other relatives?”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Then it is his nephew who will inherit?”
“I do not know.”
“He was very well off, Vaudrec?”
“Yes, very well off.”
“Do you know what his fortune was?”
“No, not exactly. One or two millions, perhaps.”
He said no more. She blew out the light, and they remained stretched out, side by side, in the darkness—silent, wakeful, and reflecting. He no