Here it is. Now, good-
evening. I must go at once. What would become of me if the
servants discovered my absence, and found that I had gone out
alone----"
She was hurrying away, but Pascal detained her. "Pray wait until
I see what she has written," he said, imploringly. "I shall
perhaps be obliged to send her some message in reply."
Madame Leon obeyed, though with rather bad grace, and not without
several times repeating: "Make haste!"--while Pascal ran to a
street lamp near by. It was not a letter that Marguerite had sent
him, but a short note, written on a scrap of crumpled paper,
folded, and not sealed. It was written in pencil; and the
handwriting was irregular and indistinct. Still, by the
flickering light of the gas, Pascal deciphered the word
"Monsieur." It made him shudder. "Monsieur!" What did this mean?
In writing to him of recent times, Marguerite had always said, "My
dear Pascal," or, "My friend."
Nevertheless, he continued: "I have not had the courage to resist
the entreaties made to me by the Count de Chalusse, my father, in
his last agony. I have solemnly pledged myself to become the wife
of the Marquis de Valorsay.
"One cannot break a promise made to the dying. I shall keep mine,
even though my heart break. I shall do my duty. God will give me
strength and courage. Forget her whom you loved. She is now the
betrothed of another, and honor commands her to forget your very
name.
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