The count had known my mother. He frequently alluded to
her, sometimes with an outburst of passion which made me think
that he had once adored, and still loved her; sometimes, with
insults and curses which impressed me with the idea that she had
cruelly injured him. But most frequently he reproached her for
having unhesitatingly sacrificed me to insure her own safety. He
said she could have had no heart; and that it was an unheard of,
incomprehensible, and monstrous thing that a woman could enjoy
luxury and wealth, undisturbed by remorse, knowing that her
innocent and defenceless child was exposed all the while to the
hardships and temptations of abject poverty. I was also certain
that my mother was a married woman, for M. de Chalusse alluded to
her husband more than once. He hated him with a terrible hatred.
One evening, when he was more communicative than usual, he gave me
to understand that the great danger he dreaded for me came either
from my mother or her husband. He afterward did his best to
counteract this impression; but he did not succeed in convincing
me that his previous assertion was untrue."
The magistrate looked searchingly at Mademoiselle Marguerite.
"Then those letters which we found just now in the escritoire are
from your mother, mademoiselle?" he remarked.
The girl blushed. She had previously been questioned respecting
these letters, and she had then made no reply. Now, she hesitated
for a moment, and then quietly said: "Your opinion coincides with
mine, monsieur.
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