I mixed her a strong dose, and, before replying, made her drink it.
"They'll place him under restraint, that's all.

He's not responsible for his actions." "He did that once before--I told you--but without the knife--I wish I could cry--I can't--You don't think it heartless of me--but my brain is on fire--I shall always see it--I wish to God I had never asked him to come--Why did I?
My God, why did I ?--It was my fault--I wanted to see him--to judge for myself how much of the old Andre was left--there was good in him once--I thought I might possibly help him--There was nothing for me to do in the world--Without you any kind of old hell was good enough--That's why I sent for him--When he came, after a bit, I was afraid, and sent for you----" "Afraid of what ?" I asked.
"He asked me at once what money I had--Then there seemed to be no doubt in his mind that I would join him--We spoke of you--the friend who could advise me--He never said--what he said afterwards--I thought it kind of him to consent to see you--I rang the bell and sent the chasseur for you.

I supposed Anastasius had gone home--I never thought of him.

The poor little man was sweet to me, just like a dog--a silent, sympathetic dog--I spoke to him as I would to something that wouldn't understand--all sorts of foolish things--Now and then a woman has to empty her heart"-- she shivered--her hands before her face.
"It's my fault, it's my fault." "These things are no one's fault," I said gently.

But just as I was beginning to console her with what thumb-marked scraps of platitude I could collect--the only philosophy after all, such is the futility of systems, adequate to the deep issues of life--the door opened and the manager announced that the police had arrived.
We went through the ordeal of the _proces-verbal_.