"It is always best to doubt," replied his adviser,
philosophically.
The marquis shrugged his shoulders. "Even when one has triumphed
over all obstacles?" he asked sneeringly.
"Yes."
"Then, tell me, if you please, what prevents this marriage from
being a foregone conclusion?"
"Mademoiselle Marguerite's consent, Monsieur le Marquis."
It was as if a glass of ice-water had been thrown in M. de
Valorsay's face. He started, turned as pale as death, and then
exclaimed: "I shall have that; I am sure of it."
You could not say that M. Fortunat was angry. Such a man, as cold
and as smooth as a hundred franc piece, has no useless passions.
But he was intensely irritated to hear his client foolishly
chanting the paeons of victory, while he was compelled to conceal
his grief at the loss of his forty thousand francs, deep in the
recesses of his heart. So, far from being touched by the
marquis's evident alarm, it pleased him to be able to turn the
dagger in the wound he had just inflicted. "You must excuse my
incredulity," said he. "It comes entirely from something you,
yourself, told me about a week ago."
"What did I tell you?"
"That you suspected Mademoiselle Marguerite of a--how shall I
express it?--of a secret preference for some other person."
The gloomiest despondency had now followed the marquis's
enthusiasm and exultation. He was evidently in torture. "I more
than suspected it," said he.
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