Thus a few minutes longer, and all was really over. Count Ville- Handry’s daughter was dying! Count Ville-Handry’s daughter was dead!  
But at that very hour the tenant¹ of the fourth story, Papa Ravinet, the second-hand² dealer³, was going to his dinner. If he had gone down as usually, by the front staircase, no noise would have reached him. But Providence⁴ was awake. That evening he went down the back stairs, and heard the death-rattle of the poor dying girl. In our beautiful egotistical days, many a man, in the place of this old man, would not have gone out of his way. He, on the contrary, hurried down to inform the concierge⁵. Many a man, again, would have been quieted by the apparent calmness of the Chevassat couple, and would have been satisfied with their assurance that Henrietta was not at home. He, however, insisted, and, in spite of the evident reluctance⁶ of the concierge and his wife, compelled them to go up, and brought out, by his words first, and then by his example, one tenant after another.
 
It was he likewise, who, while the concierge and the other people were deliberating, directed what was to be done for the dying girl, and who hastened to fetch from his magazine a mattress⁷, sheets, blankets, wood to make a fire, in fact, every thing that was needed in that bare chamber⁸.
 
A few moments later Henrietta opened her eyes. Her first sensation was a very strange one.
 
In the first place she was utterly⁹ amazed at feeling that she was in a warm bed,—she who had, for so many days, endured all the tortures of bitter cold. Then, looking around, she was dazzled by the candles that were burning on her table, and the beautiful, bright fire in her fireplace. And then she looked with perfect stupor¹⁰ at all the women whom she did not know, and who were bending over her, watching her movements.
 
Had her father at last come to her assistance?
 
No, for he would have been there; and she looked in vain for him among all these strange people.
 
Then, understanding from some words which were spoken close by her, that it was to chance alone she owed her rescue from death, she was filled with indescribable grief.
 
“To have suffered all that can be suffered in dying,” she said to herself, “and then not to die after all!”
 
She almost had a feeling of hatred¹² against all these people who were busying themselves around her. Now that they had brought her back to life, would they enable her to live?
 
Nevertheless, she distinguished¹³ very clearly what was going on in her room. She recognized the wealthy ladies from the first story, who had stayed to nurse her, and between them Mrs. Chevassat, who assumed an air of great activity, while she explained to them how Henrietta had deceived her affectionate heart in order to carry out her fatal purpose.
 
“You see, I did not dream of any thing,” she protested in a whining¹⁴ tone. “A poor little pussy-cat, who was always merry, and this morning yet sang like a bird. I thought she might be a little embarrassed, but never suspected such misery¹⁶. You see, ladies, she was as proud as a queen, and as haughty¹⁷ as the weather. She would rather have died than ask for assistance; for she knew she had only a word to say to me. Did I not already, in October, when I saw she would not be able to pay her rent, become responsible for her?”
 
And thereupon the infamous¹⁸ hypocrite bent¹⁹ over the poor girl, kissed her on her forehead, and said with a tender tone of voice,—
 
“Did you not love me, dear little pussy-cat; did not you? I know you loved poor old Mrs. Chevassat.”
 
Unable to articulate a word, even if she had understood what was said, poor Henrietta shivered, shrank with horror and disgust from the contact with those lying lips. And the emotion which this feeling caused her did more for her than all the attentions that were paid her. Still, it was only after the doctor, who had been sent for, had come and bled her, that she was restored to the full use of her faculties²⁰. Then she thanked, in a very feeble voice, the people around her, assuring them that she felt much better now, and might safely be left alone.
 
The two wealthy ladies, whom curiosity had carried off at the moment when they were sitting down to dinner, did not wait for more, and, very happy to be released, slipped away at once. But the concierge’s wife remained by Henrietta’s bedside till she was alone with her victim; and then every thing changed in her face, tone of voice, look, and manner.
 
“Well,” she commenced, “now you are happy, miss! You have advertised my house, and it will all be in the papers. Everybody will pity you, and think your lover a cold-blooded villain²¹, who lets you die of starvation.”
 
The poor young girl deprecated the charge with such a sweet, gentle expression of face, that a savage²² would have been touched; but Mrs. Chevassat was civilized²³.
 
“And still you know very well,” she went on in a bitter tone, “that dear M. Maxime has done all he could to save you. Only day before yesterday, he offered you his whole fortune”—
 
“Madam,” stammered²⁴ Henrietta, “have you no mercy?”
 
Mercy—Mrs. Chevassat! What a joke!
 
“You would take nothing,” she continued, “from M. Maxime. Why, I ask you? To play the virtuous²⁵ woman, was it? It was hardly worth while, if you meant, immediately afterwards, to accept that old miser¹⁵, who will make life hard enough for you. Ah, you have fallen into nice hands!”
 
Gathering²⁶ up all the strength that had come back to her, Henrietta raised herself on the pillows, and asked,—
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“Oh, nothing! I see. After all, you would have it so. Besides, he had been looking after you a long time already.”
 
As soon as Henrietta opened her eyes, Papa Ravinet had discreetly²⁷ withdrawn²⁸, in order to leave the ladies, who were about her, time to undress her. Thus she had not seen the man who had saved her, and did not understand the allusions²⁹ of the old woman.
 
“Explain, madam, explain!”
 
“Ah, upon my word! that is not difficult. The man who has pulled you out, who has brought you all these things to make your bed, and kindle³⁰ a fire; why, that is the second-hand dealer of the fourth story! And he will not stop there, I am sure. Patience, and you will know well enough what I mean.”
 
It must be borne in mind, that the woman, for fear Henrietta might sell to Papa Ravinet what she had to sell, or for some other reason, had always painted the old man to her in colors by no means flattering.
 
“What ought I to be afraid of?” asked Henrietta.
 
The woman hesitated. At last she answered,—
 
“If I were to tell you, you would repeat it to him when he comes back.”
 
“No, I promise you.”
 
“Swear it on your mother’s sacred memory.”
 
“I swear.”
 
Thus reassured³¹, the old woman came close up to her bed; and, in an animated³² but low voice, she said,—
 
“Well, I mean this: if you accept now what Papa Ravinet will offer you, in six months you will be worse than any of Mrs. Hilaire’s girls. Ah! don’t tell me ‘I do not mean to touch him.’ The old rascal³³ has ruined more than one who was just as good as you are. That’s his business; and, upon my word! he understands it. Now, forewarned, forearmed. I am going down to make you a soup. I’ll be back at night. And above all, you hear, not a word!”
 
By one word Mrs. Chevassat had plunged³⁴ Henrietta once more into an abyss of profound despair.
 
“Great God!” she said to herself, “why must the generous assistance of this old man be a new snare³⁵ for me?”
 
With her elbow resting on her pillow, her forehead supported by her hand, her eyes streaming with tears, she endeavored to gather her ideas, which seemed to be scattered³⁶ to the four winds, like the leaves of trees after a storm; when a modest, dry cough aroused her from her meditations³⁷.
 
She trembled, and raised her head.
 
In the framework of the open door stood a man of mature age and of medium height, looking at her.
 
It was Papa Ravinet, who, after a long conversation with the concierge, and after some words with his amiable³⁸ wife, had come up to inquire after his patient. She guessed at it, rather than she knew; for, although she lived in the same house with him, she was not in the same part of the building, and she scarcely recollected³⁹ having caught a glimpse of him now and then in crossing the yard.
 
“That,” she thought, “is the man who plots my ruin, the wretch⁴⁰ whom I am to avoid.”
 
Now, it is true that this man, with his mournful face, his huge, brushlike eyebrows⁴¹, and his small, yellow eyes, startling by their incessant⁴² activity, had for the observer something enigmatical about him, and therefore did not inspire much confidence.
 
Nevertheless, Henrietta thanked him none the less heartily⁴³, although greatly embarrassed, for his readiness to help her, his kind care, and his generosity⁴⁴ in providing every thing she wanted.
 
“Oh! you owe me no thanks,” he said. “I have only done my duty, and that very imperfectly.”
 
And at once, in a rather grim manner, he began to tell her that what he had done was nothing in comparison with what he meant to do. He had but too well guessed what had led Henrietta to attempt suicide; he had only to look around her room. But he swore she should have nothing more to fear from want as long as he was there.
 
But, the more earnest and pressing the good man became in his protestations, the more Henrietta drew back within her usual reserve; her mind being filled with the prejudices instilled⁴⁶ by Mrs. Chevassat. Fortunately he was a clever man, the old dealer; and by means of not saying what might shock her, and by saying much that could not fail to touch her, he gradually regained⁴⁷ his position. He almost conquered her when he returned to her the letters she had written before making her dreadful preparations, and when she saw that they looked unhurt, and sealed as before. Thus, when he left her, after half an hour’s diplomatic interc............