I admitted that I had not.
"He is writing," she said. They had understood each otherwithout speaking. Madame Morrel looked again through thekeyhole, Morrel was writing; but Madame Morrel remarked,what her daughter had not observed, that her husband waswriting on stamped paper. The terrible idea that he waswriting his will flashed across her; she shuddered, and yethad not strength to utter a word. Next day M. Morrel seemedas calm as ever, went into his office as usual, came to hisbreakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, he placed hisdaughter beside him, took her head in his arms, and held herfor a long time against his bosom. In the evening, Julietold her mother, that although he was apparently so calm,she had noticed that her father's heart beat violently. Thenext two days passed in much the same way. On the evening ofthe 4th of September, M. Morrel asked his daughter for thekey of his study. Julie trembled at this request, whichseemed to her of bad omen. Why did her father ask for thiskey which she always kept, and which was only taken from herin childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked atMorrel.