"I must speak to
M. Carjat at once."
"But----"
"At once, I tell you. Go and tell him that he must come."
Her tone was so commanding, and there was so much authority in her
glance, that the servant hesitated no longer. He ushered her into
a little sitting-room, and said, "If madame will take a seat, I
will call monsieur."
She sank on to a chair, for her limbs were failing her. She was
beginning to realize the strangeness of the step she had taken--to
fear the result it might lead to--and to be astonished at her own
boldness. But she had no time to prepare what she wished to say,
for a man of five-and-thirty, wearing a mustache and imperial, and
clad in a velvet coat, entered the room, and bowing with an air of
surprise, exclaimed: "You desire to speak with me, madame?"
"I have a great favor to ask of you, monsieur."
"Of me?"
She drew M. de Valorsay's letter from her pocket, and, showing it
to the photographer, she said, "I have come to you, monsieur, to
ask you to photograph this letter--but at once--before me--and
quickly--very quickly. The honor of two persons is imperilled by
each moment I lose here."
Mademoiselle Marguerite's embarrassment was extreme. Her cheeks
were crimson, and she trembled like a leaf. Still her attitude
was proud, generous enthusiasm glowed in her dark eyes, and her
tone of voice revealed the serenity of a lofty soul ready to dare
anything for a just and noble cause.
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