You know Van Klopen expects me again at
one o'clock precisely; and I have not breakfasted yet. Remember
that my servants are at your disposal, and don't hesitate to call
them. You are at home, recollect."
It was not without considerable difficulty--not without being
compelled to stop and rest several times on her way up stairs--
that Mademoiselle Marguerite succeeded in reaching the apartments
of the Fondege family. "Where is madame?" inquired the servant
who opened the door.
"She is still out."
"Will she return to dinner?"
"I don't know."
"M. Gustave has been here three times already; he was very angry
when he found that there was no one at home--he went on terribly.
Besides, the workmen have turned everything topsy-turvy."
However, Marguerite had already reached her own room, and thrown
herself on the bed. She was suffering terribly. Her brave spirit
still retained its energy; but the flesh had succumbed. Every
vein and artery throbbed with violence, and while a chill seemed
to come to her heart, her head burned as if it had been on fire.
"My Lord," she thought, "am I going to fall ill at the last
moment, just when I have most need of all my strength?"
She tried to sleep, but was unable to do so. How could she free
herself from the thought that haunted her? Her mother! To think
that such a woman was her mother! Was it not enough to make her
die of sorrow and shame? And yet this woman must be saved--the
proofs of her crime must be annihilated with her letters.
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