"Ah!"
"I was certain of it, thanks to the count's house-keeper, Madame
Leon, a miserable old woman whom I have hired to look after my
interests. She has been watching Mademoiselle Marguerite, and saw
a letter written by her----"
"Oh!"
"Certainly nothing has passed that Mademoiselle Marguerite has any
cause to blush for. The letter, which is now in my possession,
contains unmistakable proofs of that. She might proudly avow the
love she has inspired, and which she undoubtedly returns. Yet----"
M. Fortunat's gaze was so intent that it became unbearable. "You
see, then," he began, "that I had good cause to fear "
Exasperated beyond endurance, M. de Valorsay sprang up so
violently that he overturned his chair. "No!" he exclaimed, "no,
a thousand times no! You are wrong--for the man who loves
Mademoiselle Marguerite is now ruined. Yes, such is really the
case. While we are sitting here, at this very moment, he is lost--
irredeemably lost. Between him and the woman whom I wish to
marry--whom I SHALL marry--I have dug so broad and deep an abyss
that the strongest love cannot overleap it. It is better and
worse than if I had killed him. Dead, he would have been mourned,
perhaps; while now, the lowest and most degraded woman would turn
from him in disgust, or, even if she loved him, she would not dare
to confess it."
M. Fortunat seemed greatly disturbed. "Have you then put into
execution the project--the plan you spoke of?" he faltered.
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