Whom could she depend upon? Not on Madame Leon. She
distrusted her; she had no confidence whatever in her. Should she
ask for the advice of either of her suitors? The Marquis de
Valorsay inspired her with unconquerable aversion, and she
despised the so-called General de Fondege. So her only friend,
her only protector was a stranger, the old justice of the peace
who had taken her defence, by crushing the slander of the
servants, and whom she had opened her heart to. But he would soon
forget her, she thought; and the future, such as it was presented
to her imagination, seemed a terrible one. However, she was too
courageous to remain for long in despair--she struggled against
her sorrow; and the thought that she might, perhaps, reach Pascal
through M. Fortunat at last occurred to her mind. This hope was
her sole chance of salvation. She clung to it as a shipwrecked
mariner clings to the plank which is his only hope of life.
When she returned to the mansion her mind was made up, and she had
regained her usual composure. For ten minutes or so she had been
praying by the count's bedside, when M. Bourigeau, the concierge,
appeared and handed her a letter which had just been brought to
the house. It was addressed to "Mademoiselle Marguerite de Durtal
de Chalusse, at the Hotel de Chalusse, Rue de Courcelles."
Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. Who was it that addressed her by
this name which she no longer had the right to bear? She studied
the handwriting for a moment, but she did not remember ever having
seen it before.
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