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In crossing the vestibule, Albert noticed a great stir among the servants; they all seemed to have lost their senses. M. Denis gave some orders in a sharp, imperative tone. Then he thought he heard that the Count de Commarin had been struck down with apoplexy. After that, he remembered nothing. They almost carried him to the cab which drove off as fast as the two little horses could go.
I am rather tired to-night." Then he added, addressing his clerk, "Constant, look in at the record office, in case the prisoner Commarin should wish to speak to me." He moved towards the door; but M. Tabaret barred his exit. "Sir," said the old man, "in the name of heaven listen to me! He is innocent, I swear to you. Help me, then, to find the real culprit.
"Only?" repeated the count harshly. "I must tell you, sir," continued the advocate coldly, "that I do not choose to kill myself at least, not at present." "Ah!" cried M. de Commarin in disgust, "you are a coward!" "No, sir, not a coward; but I will not kill myself until I am sure that every opening is closed against me, that I cannot save myself."
"Can I discard you to-morrow, and present this Noel as my son, saying, 'Excuse me, but there has been a slight mistake; this one is the viscount? And then the tribunals will get hold of it. What does it matter who is named Benoit, Durand, or Bernard? But, when one is called Commarin, even but for a single day, one must retain that name through life.
And then, with evident hesitation, he added: "Did he speak to you of his of your mother?" "Scarcely, sir. He only told me that he came unknown to her; that he had accidentally discovered the secret which he revealed to me." M. de Commarin asked nothing further. There was more for him to learn. He remained for some time deep in thought.
"Ah, sir!" said Mademoiselle d'Arlange bitterly, "you are like the magistrate; you believed in the impossible. You are his father, and you suspected him! You do not know him, then. You were abandoning him, without trying to defend him. Ah, I did not hesitate one moment!" One is easily induced to believe true that which one is anxiously longing for. M. de Commarin was not difficult to convince.
Overwhelmed in the very midst of his triumph, he struggled against this fright. He drew himself up with a look of defiance. M. de Commarin, without seeming to pay any attention to Noel, approached his writing table, and opened a drawer. "My duty," said he, "would be to leave you to the executioner who awaits you; but I remember that I have the misfortune to be your father.
I was in that desperate state of mind, in which the gambler, after successive losses, stakes upon a card his last remaining coin. I plucked up courage, sent for a cab, and was driven to the de Commarin mansion." The old amateur detective here allowed a sigh of satisfaction to escape him. "It is one of the most magnificent houses, in the Faubourg St.
During the bloodiest epoch of the Reign of Terror, M. d'Escorval had wrested from the guillotine a young girl named Victoire-Laure d'Alleu, a distant cousin of the Rhetaus of Commarin, as beautiful as an angel, and only three years younger than himself.
Noel obeyed. "You have found your father," said M. de Commarin in a low tone; "but I must warn you, that at the same time you lose your independence." The carriage started; and only then did the count notice that Noel had very modestly seated himself opposite him. This humility seemed to displease him greatly. "Sit here by my side, sir," he exclaimed; "are you not my son?"
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