It is our
little heart that is suffering, is it not? Yes--yes--I understand.
But your old friends will console you. You received my wife's
letter, did you not? Ah, well! what she told you, she will do--she
will do it. And to prove it, in spite of her illness, she
followed me--in fact, she is here!"
XXI.
Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang to her feet, quivering with
indignation. Her eyes sparkled and her lips trembled as she threw
back her head with a superb gesture of scorn, which loosened her
beautiful dark hair, and caused it to fall in rippling masses over
her shoulders. "Ah! Madame de Fondege is here!" she repeated, in
a tone of crushing contempt--"Madame de Fondege, your wife, here!"
It seemed to her an impossibility to receive the hypocrite who had
written the letter of the previous evening--the accomplice of the
scoundrels who took advantage of her wretchedness and isolation.
Her heart revolted at the thought of meeting this woman, who had
neither conscience nor shame, who could stoop so low as to
intrigue for the millions which she fancied had been stolen.
Mademoiselle Marguerite was about to forbid her to enter, or to
retire herself, when the thought of her determination to act
stealthily restrained her. She instantly realized her imprudence,
and, mastering herself with a great effort, she murmured: "Madame
de Fondege is too kind! How can I ever express my gratitude?"
Madame de Fondege must have heard this, for at the same moment she
entered the room.
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