All his efforts to save this woman whom he at
once loved and hated from the depths of degradation, had proved
unavailing. "And she has extorted money from the Count de
Chalusse," he thought; "she sold him the right to adopt their own
daughter." And so strange are the workings of the human heart,
that this circumstance, trivial in comparison with many others,
drove the unfortunate baron almost frantic with rage. What did it
avail him that he had become one of the richest men in Paris? He
allowed his wife eight thousand francs a month, almost one hundred
thousand francs a year, merely for her dresses and fancies. Not a
quarter-day passed, but what he paid her debts to a large amount,
and in spite of all this, she had sunk so low as to extort money
from a man who had once loved her. "What can she do with it all?"
muttered the baron, overcome with sorrow and indignation. "How
can she succeed in spending the income of several millions?"
A name, the name of Ferdinand de Coralth, rose to his lips; but he
did not pronounce it. He saw Pascal emerging from the smoking-
room; and though he had forgotten the young advocate's very
existence, his appearance now restored him to a consciousness of
reality. "Ah, well! M. Ferailleur?" he said, like a man suddenly
aroused from some terrible nightmare. Pascal tried to make some
reply, but he was unable to do so--such a flood of incoherent
thoughts was seething and foaming in his brain.
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