Petronelle, tearful but obedient, prepared to leave the room.

She was overawed by her mistress' air of aloofness, the pale face rendered ethereally beautiful by the sufferings she had gone through.

The eyes glowed large and magnetic, as if in presence of spiritual visions beyond mortal ken; the golden hair looked like a saintly halo above the white, immaculate young brow.
Petronelle made the sign of the cross, as if she were in the presence of a saint.
As she opened the door there was a sudden draught, and the last flickering flame died out in the ash-pan.

Juliette, seeing that Petronelle had gone, hastily turned over the few half burnt fragments of paper that were left.

In none of them had the writing remained legible.
All that was compromising to Deroulede was effectually reduced to dust.
The small wick in the lamp at the foot of the Virgin and Child had burned itself out for want of oil; there was no means for Juliette to strike another light and to destroy what remained.