On the ensuing Thursday, they felt particularly anxious. In the morning,
Therese inquired of Laurent whether he considered it prudent to leave
the paralysed woman in the dining-room during the evening. She knew all
and might give the alarm.
"Bah!" replied Laurent, "it is impossible for her to raise her little
finger. How can she babble?"
"She will perhaps discover a way to do so," answered Therese. "I have
noticed an implacable thought in her eyes since the other evening."
"No," said Laurent. "You see, the doctor told me it was absolutely
all over with her. If she ever speaks again it will be in the final
death-rattle. She will not last much longer, you may be sure. It would
be stupid to place an additional load on our conscience by preventing
her being present at the gathering this evening."
Therese shuddered.
"You misunderstand me," she exclaimed. "Oh! You are right. There has
been enough crime. I meant to say that we might shut our aunt up in her
own room, pretending she was not well, and was sleeping."
"That's it," replied Laurent, "and that idiot Michaud would go straight
into the room to see his old friend, notwithstanding. It would be a
capital way to ruin us.
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