He had taken no food that
day, and he was faint from want of nourishment. He had come
without an overcoat, moreover, and the cold night air chilled him
to the bone. There was a strange ringing in his ears, and a mist
swam before his eyes. At last the bell at the Beaujon Hospital
tolled the appointed hour, and roused him from his lethargy. He
seemed to hear a voice crying to him in the darkness, "Up! the
hour has come!"
Trembling, and with tottering limbs, he dragged himself to the
little gate opening into the gardens of the Chalusse mansion.
Soon it softly opened, and Madame Leon appeared. Ah! it was not
she that Pascal had hoped to see. Unfortunate man! He had been
listening to that mysterious echo of our own desires which we so
often mistake for a presentiment; and it had whispered in his
heart: "Marguerite herself will come!"
With the candor of wretchedness, he could not refrain from telling
Madame Leon the hope he had entertained. But, on hearing him, the
housekeeper recoiled with a gesture of outraged propriety, and
reproachfully exclaimed: "What are you thinking of, monsieur?
What! could you suppose that Mademoiselle Marguerite would abandon
her place by her dead father's bedside to come to a rendezvous?
Ah! you should think better of her than that, the dear child!"
He sighed deeply, and in a scarcely audible voice, he asked:
Hasn't she even sent me a reply?"
"Yes, monsieur, she has; and although it is a great indiscretion
on my part, I bring you the letter.
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