"
"Excuse me--you forget that my mother----"
"Your mother has only known me for a week."
An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's
face. "Is it possible?" he murmured.
"Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the
Count de Chalusse, who was his friend--but what does he know of
me?" resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "That I came to the Hotel
de Chalusse a year ago, and that the count treated me like a
daughter--that is all! Who I am, where I was reared, and how, and
what my past life has been, these are matters that M. de Fondege
knows nothing whatever about."
"My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de
Chalusse, mademoiselle."
"What proof have they of it? They ought to have told you that I
was an unfortunate foundling, with no other name than that of
Marguerite."
"Oh!"
"They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that I
should probably have been reduced to the necessity of toiling for
my daily bread, if it had not been for them."
An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied
that Mademoiselle Marguerite only wished to prove his
disinterestedness, and this thought restored his assurance.
"Perhaps you are exaggerating a little, mademoiselle," he replied.
"I am not exaggerating--I possess but ten thousand francs in the
world--I swear it by all that I hold sacred.
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