The thought
that he was about to commit an atrocious act entered his mind, but
he drove it away. It was too late now to draw back, or even to
reflect.
Suddenly a door opposite the one by which he had entered opened,
and Madame d'Argeles appeared on the threshold. She was no longer
the woman whose anguish and terror had alarmed her guests. During
the brief moment of respite which fate had granted her, she had
summoned all her energy and courage, and had mastered her despair.
She felt that her salvation depended upon her calmness, and she
had succeeded in appearing calm, haughty, and disdainful--as
impassive as if she had been a statue. "Was it you, sir, who sent
me this card?" she inquired.
Greatly disconcerted, M. Wilkie could only bow and stammer out an
almost unintelligible answer. "Excuse me! I am much grieved, upon
my word! I disturb you, perhaps----"
"You are Monsieur Wilkie!" interrupted Madame d'Argeles, in a tone
of mingled irony and disdain.
"Yes," he replied, drawling out the name affectedly, "I am M.
Wilkie."
"Did you desire to speak with me?" inquired Madame d'Argeles,
dryly.
"In fact--yes. I should like----"
"Very well. I will listen to you, although your visit is most
inopportune, for I have eighty guests or more in my drawing-room.
Still, speak!"
It was very easy to say "speak," but unfortunately for M.
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