With her forehead resting
against the wall, and her eye peering through the tiny crack, she
watched her governess change her dress, throw a shawl over her
shoulders, put on her best bonnet, and, after a glance at the
looking-glass, rush from the room, exclaiming: "Here I am, my dear
countess. I'm ready."
And a few moments afterward they left the house together.
As the outer door closed after them, Marguerite's brain whirled.
If she were not deceived, Madame Leon had left the key of the
drawers in the pocket of the dress she had just taken off. So it
was with a wildly throbbing heart that she opened the
communicating door and entered her "companion's" room. She
hastily approached the bed on which the dress was lying, and, with
a trembling hand, she began to search for the pocket. Fortune
favored her! The key was there. The letter was within her reach.
But she was about to do a deed against which her whole nature
revolted. To steal a key, to force an article of furniture open,
and violate the secret of a private correspondence, these were
actions so repugnant to her sense of honor, and her pride, that
for some time she stood irresolute. At last the instinct of self-
preservation overpowered her scruples. Was not her honor, and
Pascal's honor also, at stake--as well as their mutual love and
happiness?" It would be folly to hesitate.
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