“Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass,” said the calm Madame Beck.

To be left to her and her cordial seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly⁠—

“ Laissez-moi! ” 247 in the grim sound I felt a music strange, strong, but life-giving.

“ Laissez-moi! ” he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke.

“But this will never do,” said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman⁠—