"And who is this young girl?" she inquired. "What is her name?"
"Marguerite."
"Marguerite who?"
Pascal's embarrassment increased. "She has no other name," he
replied, hurriedly, "and she does not know her parents. She
formerly lived in our street with her companion, Madame Leon, and
an old female servant. It was there that I saw her for the first
time. She now lives in the house of the Count de Chalusse, in the
Rue de Courcelles."
"In what capacity?"
"The count has always taken care of her--she owes her education to
him. He acts as her guardian; and although she has never spoken
to me on the subject, I fancy that the Count de Chalusse is her
father."
"And does this girl love you, Pascal?"
"I believe so, mother. She has promised me that she will have no
other husband than myself."
"And the count?"
"He doesn't know--he doesn't even suspect anything about it. Day
after day I have been trying to gather courage to tell you
everything, and to ask you to go to the Count de Chalusse. But my
position is so modest as yet. The count is immensely rich, and he
intends to give Marguerite an enormous fortune--two millions, I
believe----"
Madame Ferailleur interrupted him with a gesture. "Look no
further," she said; "you have found the explanation."
Pascal sprang to his feet with crimson cheeks, flaming eyes, and
quivering lips. "It may be so," he exclaimed; "it may be so! The
count's immense fortune may have tempted some miserable scoundrel.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158