The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure.

“Take my arm, sir,” said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons should fall.  “Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone.”

“I want to see the salon. . . .” said the death-stricken man.  La Cibot made a sign to the three ravens to take flight.  Then she caught up Pons as if he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite of his cries.  When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, she went to shut the door on the staircase.  The three who had done Pons to death were still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait.  She heard Fraisier say to Magus: 

“Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you.  Undertake to pay nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons’ collection, and we will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit.”

With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the porter’s room.

“Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?” asked the unhappy Pons, when she came back again.

“Gone? . . . who?” asked she.

“Those men.”

“What men?  There, now, you have seen men,” said she.  “You have just had a raving fit; if it hadn’t been for me you would have gone out the window, and now you are still talking of men in the room.  Is it always to be like this?”

“What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my relatives had sent him?”

“Will you still stand me out?” said she.  “Upon my word, do you know where you ought to be sent?—­To the asylum at Charenton.  You see men—­”

“Elie Magus, Remonencq, and—­”

“Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen him, for he came up to tell me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come down.  My Cibot comes first, you see.  When my husband is ill, I can think of nobody else.  Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of hours; I have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him. . . .  Take a drink and be good—­”

“Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked? . . .”

“No one,” said she.  “You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your looking-glasses.”

“You are right, Mme. Cibot,” said Pons, meek as a lamb.

“Well, now you are sensible again. . . .  Good-bye, my cherub; keep quiet, I shall be back again in a minute.”

When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his remaining strength to rise.

“They are cheating me,” he muttered to himself, “they are robbing me!  Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack.”