"Nor is this all! This woman--my wife--you know--you
have heard the extent of her shame and degradation. Ah, well! I--
love her!"
Pascal recoiled with an exclamation of mingled horror and
consternation.
"This amazes you, eh?" rejoined the baron. "It is indeed
incomprehensible, monstrous--but it is the truth. It is to
gratify her desire for luxury that I have toiled to amass
millions. If I purchased a title, which is absurd and ridiculous,
it was only because I wished to satisfy her vanity. Do what she
may, I can only see in her the chaste and beautiful wife of our
early married life. It is cowardly, absurd, ridiculous--I realize
it; but my love is stronger than my reason or my will. I love her
madly, passionately; I cannot tear her from my heart!"
So speaking, he sank sobbing on to the divan again. Was this,
indeed, the frivolous and jovial Baron Trigault whom Pascal had
seen at Madame d'Argeles's house--the man of self-satisfied mien
and superb assurance, the good-natured cynic, the frequenter of
gambling-dens? Alas, yes! But the baron whom the world knew was
only a comedian; this was the real man.
After a little while he succeeded in controlling his emotion, and
in a comparatively calm voice he exclaimed: "But it is useless to
distract one's mind with an incurable evil. Let us speak of
yourself, M. Ferailleur. To what do I owe the honor of this
visit?"
"To your own kind offer, monsieur, and the hope that you will help
me in refuting this slander, and wreaking vengeance upon those who
have ruined me.
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