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Shame, sorrow, and rage, brought tears to Pascal's eyes. "My God!" he exclaimed, "to be reduced to the unspeakable misery of hearing my mother doubt Marguerite!" He did not doubt her. HE could have listened to the most infamous accusations against her without feeling a single doubt. However, Madame Ferailleur had sufficient self-control to shrug her shoulders.
Occupied with these arrangements for the future, he was still talking, when Madame Ferailleur, drawing out her watch, gently remarked: "And your appointment? You forget that the cab is waiting at the door." It was true; he had forgotten it. He caught up his hat, hastily embraced his mother, and sprang into the vehicle.
It is only too true that extra cards were introduced into the pack, but that they were introduced by M. F is not proven, since he was NOT SEEN to do it. I know that appearances are against him, but he nevertheless possesses my entire confidence and esteem. Meanwhile Madame Ferailleur and her son had exchanged significant glances. Their impressions were the same. This man could not be an enemy.
And as simply as if she were telling the most natural thing in the world, she described the struggle she had undertaken against the world, strong in her faith in Pascal and in his love. "Ah, you are a noble and courageous girl!" exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "You are worthy of my son, and you will proudly guard our honest name!"
The play is made! Banco!" "What a strange gathering!" thought Pascal Ferailleur. "What singular people!" And he turned his attention to the mistress of the house, as if he hoped to decipher the solution of the enigma on her face. But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all analysis.
Monsieur de Coralth," she said, indignantly. "I and why?" "Because it was you who slipped those cards, which made M. Ferailleur win, into the pack; I saw you do it! And yielding to my entreaties, the young fellow was about to leave the house when you, intentionally, prevented him from saving himself. Oh! don't deny it." M. de Coralth rose in the coolest possible manner.
He had hurried out, his clothes in disorder, and himself not a little hurt; but his delight made him lose all thought of his injuries. "That's M. Ferailleur," he muttered, "I'm sure of it, and I'm going to prove it." So saying he hid himself in the doorway of a vacant house a few paces distant from the Vantrassons', and waited.
"You are mistaken, Lia," he replied. "M. Fortunat has had no hand in this." "Then who could have betrayed my secret?" "Why, your former ally, the rascal for whose sake you allowed Pascal Ferailleur to be sacrificed the Viscount de Coralth!" The bare supposition of such treachery on the viscount's part brought a flush of indignant anger to Madame d'Argeles's cheek.
With Marguerite, moreover, one consideration one which she would scarcely have admitted, perhaps outweighed all others: Madame Ferailleur was Pascal's mother. For that reason alone, if for no other, she was prepared to worship her.
At last, however, they gave her some soup and cold meat, served on a corner of the bare table in the dining-room. It was half-past seven when she finished this frugal meal. She waited a moment, and then fearing she might keep Madame Ferailleur waiting, she went down into the street. A cab was waiting at the corner of the Rue Boursault, as indicated.