And if it were
absolutely necessary for them to leave France--ah, well! they
would leave it. To them Fatherland would always be the spot where
they lived together.
As the cab approached the Rue d'Ulm she pictured Pascal's sorrow,
and the joy and surprise he would feel when she suddenly appeared
before him, and faltered: "They accuse you--here I am! I know that
you are innocent, and I love you!"
But the brutal voice of the concierge, informing her of Pascal's
secret departure, in the most insulting terms, abruptly dispelled
her dreams. If Pascal had failed her, everything had failed her.
If she had lost him, she had lost her all. The world seemed
empty--struggling would be folly--happiness was only an empty
name. She indeed longed for death!
Madame Leon who had a set of formulas adapted to all
circumstances, undertook to console her. "Weep, my dear young
lady, weep; it will do you good. Ah! this is certainly a horrible
catastrophe. You are young, fortunately, and Time is a great
consoler. M. Ferailleur isn't the only man on earth. Others will
love you. There are others who love you already!"
"Silence!" interrupted Marguerite, more revolted than if she had
heard a libertine whispering shameful proposals in her ear.
"Silence! I forbid you to add another word." To speak of another--
what sacrilege! Poor girl. She was one of those whose life is
bound up in one love alone, and if that fails them--it is death!
The thought that she was utterly alone added to the horror of her
situation.
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