She stood before them a hard-featured, tall woman of thirty-five or forty, in a neat black stuff dress, strong with the strength of a peasant, respectable, reliable.

She looked what she had been, the confidential maid of an elderly woman.

On her face there was now an aspect of eager appeal.
"Oh, monsieur!" she began, "let me go from here--anywhere--into prison if you like.

But to stay here--where in years past we were so happy--and with madame lying in the room below.

No, it is insupportable." She sank into her chair, and Hanaud came over to her side.
"Yes, yes," he said, in a soothing voice.