It was a difficult task for her, a girl
naturally so reserved, to confide in a stranger, and open to him
her maidenly heart, filled with love for Pascal Ferailleur! Still,
she was much calmer than she had been on the previous evening,
when she called on the photographer for a facsimile of M. de
Valorsay's letter. Several circumstances combined to reassure
her. M. Fortunat knew her already, since he was the agent whom
the Count de Chalusse had employed to carry on the investigations
which had resulted in her discovery at the foundling asylum. A
vague presentiment told her that this man was better acquainted
with her past life than she was herself, and that he could, if he
chose, tell her her mother's name--the name of the woman whom the
count so dreaded, and who had so pitilessly deserted her.
However, her heart beat more quickly, and she felt that she was
turning pale when, at Madame Dodelin's invitation, she at last
entered M. Fortunat's private office. She took in the room and
its occupants with a single glance. The handsome appointments of
the office surprised her, for she had expected to see a den. The
agent's polite manner and rather elegant appearance disconcerted
her, for she had expected to meet a coarse and illiterate boor;
and finally, Victor Chupin, who was standing twisting his cap near
the fireplace, attired in a blouse and a pair of ragged trousers,
fairly alarmed her.
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