To-day I can tell all Paris
what his sister has been and what she is to-day."
Ah! it was this--yes, it was this that Madame d'Argeles had
dreaded. She fell upon her knees, and, with clasped hands she
entreated: "Pity!--oh! have pity--forgive me! Have mercy! Have I
not always been a faithful and devoted friend to you? Think of the
past you have just invoked! Who helped you then to bear your
intolerable sufferings? Don't you remember the day when you,
yourself, had determined to die by your own hand? There was a
woman who persuaded you to abandon the thought of suicide. It was
I!"
He looked at her for a moment with a softer expression, tears came
to his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. Then suddenly he raised
her, and placed her in an arm-chair, exclaiming: "Ah! you know
very well that I shall not do what I said. Don't you know me
better than that? Are you not sure of my affection, are you not
aware that you are sacred in my eyes?" He was evidently striving
hard to master his emotion. "Besides," he added, "I had already
pardoned before coming here. It was foolish on my part, perhaps,
and for nothing in the world would I confess it to my
acquaintances, but it is none the less true. I shall have my
revenge in a certain fashion, however. I need only hold my peace,
and the daughter of M. de Chalusse and Madame Trigault would
become a lost woman.
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