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Involuntarily, my dear Edgar, I indulged in this short monologue after the manner of the old romancers: O tender love! passion full of intoxication and torment! love that kills and resuscitates! What a terrible vacuum thou must leave in life, when age exiles thee from our heart! Which means that I was resuscitated by Mad. de Lorgeville's last words!
I am able to distinguish among the gravest faces those that can relax into a smile at the sight of gold. The gardener passed before me, and after he had bestowed upon me the expected smile, I said to him: "Is this Mad. de Lorgeville's château?" He made an affirmative sign. Once more I bowed to the genius of the Jerusalem street goddess.
"Ah you know him!... My brother Léon and his wife." ... I started so violently that I dropped Mad. de Lorgeville's arm she looked frightened, and I said in a painfully constrained voice: "And his wife.... Mad. de Varèzes?... Ah! I did not know that M. de Varèzes was married." "My brother was married a month ago," said Mad. Lorgeville. "He married Mlle. de Bligny."
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