He would willingly have
given his third share in Pompier de Nanterre to have made his
escape. The strangeness of the scene appalled him. It was not
emotion that he felt, but an instinctive fear mingled with
commiseration. And he was not only ill at ease, but he was angry
with himself for what he secretly styled his weakness. "Women are
incomprehensible," he thought. "It would be so easy to explain
things quietly and properly, but they must always cry and have a
sort of melodrama."
Suddenly the sound of footsteps near the door roused him from his
stupor. He shuddered at the thought that some one might come in.
He hated the very idea of ridicule. So summoning all his courage
he went toward Madame d'Argeles, and, raising her from the floor,
he exclaimed: "Don't cry so. You grieve me, upon my word! Pray
get up. Some one is coming. Do you hear me? Some one is coming."
Thereupon, as she offered no resistance, he half led, half carried
her to an arm-chair, into which she sank heavily. "Now she is
going to faint!" thought Wilkie, in despair. What should he do?
Call for help? He dared not. However, necessity inspired him. He
knelt at Madame d'Argeles's feet, and gently said: "Come, come, be
reasonable! Why do you give way like this? I don't reproach you!"
Slowly, with an air of humility which was indescribably touching,
she took her hands from her face, and for the first time raised
her tear-stained eyes to her son's.
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