The chemist, at the tumult which broke out in the house ran thither. The table with all the plates was upset; sauce, meat, knives, the salt, and cruet-stand were strewn over the room; Charles was calling for help; Berthe, scared, was crying; and Félicité, whose hands trembled, was unlacing her mistress, whose whole body shivered convulsively.

“I’ll run to my laboratory for some aromatic vinegar,” said the druggist.

Then as she opened her eyes on smelling the bottle⁠—

“I was sure of it,” he remarked; “that would wake any dead person for you!”

“Speak to us,” said Charles; “collect yourself; it is your Charles, who loves you. Do you know me? See! here is your little girl! Oh, kiss her!”

The child stretched out her arms to her mother to cling to her neck. But turning away her head, Emma said in a broken voice “No, no! no one!”