M. de
Valorsay would be worsted, but not annihilated, and the plans
which made the physician's intervention a necessity would never be
revealed. She thought of hastening to her friend the old
magistrate; but he lived a long way off, and time was pressing.
Besides she might not find him at home. Then she thought of going
to a notary, to a judge. She would show them the letter, and they
could take a copy of it. But no--this would do no good--the
marquis could still deny it. She was becoming desperate, and was
accusing herself of stupidity, when a sudden inspiration illumined
her mind, turning night into day, as it were. "Oh, Pascal, we are
saved!" she exclaimed. And without pausing to deliberate any
longer, she threw a mantle over her shoulders, hastily tied on her
bonnet, and hurried from the house, without saying a word to any
one.
Unfortunately she was not acquainted with this part of Paris, and
on reaching the Rue Pigalle she was at a loss for her way.
Unwilling to waste any more time, she hastily entered a grocer's
shop at the corner of the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Notre Dame de
Lorette, and anxiously inquired: "Do you know any photographer in
this neighborhood, monsieur?"
Her agitation made this question seem so singular that the grocer
looked at her closely for a moment, as if to make sure that she
was not jesting.
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