"This is perfect. I can read it very well indeed," resumed Olivier after
an instant, and with his eyes on the married pair. "Your aunt writes
your two names: '_Therese and Laurent_.'"
The old lady made sign after sign in the affirmative, casting crushing
glances on the murderers. Then she sought to complete the sentence,
but her fingers had stiffened, the supreme will that galvanised them,
escaped her. She felt the paralysis slowly descending her arm and again
grasping her wrist. She hurried on, and traced another word.
Old Michaud read out in a loud voice:
"_Therese and Laurent have----_"
And Olivier inquired:
"What have your dear children?"
The murderers, seized with blind terror, were on the point of completing
the sentence aloud. They contemplated the avenging hand with fixed
and troubled eyes, when, all at once this hand became convulsed, and
flattened out on the table. It slipped down and fell on the knee of the
impotent woman like a lump of inanimate flesh and bone. The paralysis
had returned and arrested the punishment. Michaud and Olivier sat down
again disappointed, while Therese and Laurent experienced such keen joy
that they felt like fainting under the influence of the sudden rush of
blood that beat in their bosoms.
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