Something had gone from her suddenly where her husband was concerned, and something else had taken its place.

An infinite pity, a bitter sorrow, and a gentle command were in her eyes all at once--new vistas of life opened before her, all in an instant.
"He is not dead, and there is no need to kill yourself, Louis," she repeated, and her voice had a command in it that was not to be gainsaid.
"Since you have vindicated your honour, you will now help me to set this business right." Madame Marie was on her knees beside the insensible man.

"No, he is not dead, thank God!" she murmured, and while Havel stripped the arm and leg, she poured some water between Fournel's lips.

Her long experience as the Little Chemist's wife served her well now.
Now that the excitement was over, Louis collapsed.

He swayed and would have fallen, but Madelinette caught him, helped him to the sofa, and, forcing him gently down on his side, adjusted a pillow for him, and turned to the wounded man again.
An hour went busily by in the closely-curtained room, and at last George Fournel, conscious, and with wounds well bandaged, sat in a big arm-chair, glowering round him.