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Perhaps M. the marquis remembers her a plump, bright-eyed brunette, named Mihonne." Louis did not remember Mihonne. "When can we see this Fougeroux?" he inquired. "To-day; I will engage a boat to take us over." "Well, let us go now. I have no time to lose." An entire generation has passed away since Louis had last crossed the Rhone in old Pilorel's boat.
Some people said he was leading a life of reckless extravagance in Paris. Informed of these facts by her faithful Mihonne, Valentine became more gloomy and hopeless than ever. Vainly did she question the dreary future; no ray appeared upon the dark horizon of her life.
She even forced herself to go and say a few forgiving words to Valentine, and then left her to the care of the faithful Mihonne. Poor Valentine! she prayed that death might kindly end her sufferings. She had neither the moral nor physical courage to fight against her fate, but hopelessly sank beneath the first blow, and made no attempt to rally herself. She was, however, getting better.
Joseph enumerated the beams, joists, ashlars, and the iron-work, and volubly praised the old domain. As for Mihonne, the presence of the marquis had a wonderful effect upon her. If the faithful servant had hitherto never breathed the secret confided to her probity, it was none the less heavy for her to bear.
I will finish the story. "On leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full account of the misfortunes of Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie, Clameran hastened to London. "He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's wife to whom the old countess had intrusted Gaston's son. "But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him.
Louis regretted having come, supposing from this request that the old woman was childish, and might bother him for hours with her senseless gabble. "You know well enough that my poor brother was drowned in the Rhone." "Good heavens!" cried Mihonne, "are you ignorant, then, of his escape? Yes, he did what has never been done before; he swam across the swollen Rhone. The next day Mlle.
He knew Fauvel by reputation, and was calculating the advantages he might gain by the strange information of which he was now possessed by means of the old Mihonne. It was a secret, which, if skilfully managed, would bring him in a handsome income. The few faint scruples he felt were silenced by the thought of an old age spent in poverty.
Then she told of Valentine's wretched suffering, of the impending ruin of the countess, and finally how everything was happily settled by the poor girl's marriage with an immensely rich man, who was now one of the richest bankers in Paris, and was named Fauvel. A harsh voice calling, "Mihonne! Mihonne!" here interrupted the old woman.
But Valentine saw them only too clearly; yet it did not occur to her for an instant to break her promise by sending another, or by delaying to go herself. At sunrise she dressed herself. When the bell was ringing for early mass, she thought it a good time to start on her errand. The servants were all up, and one of them named Mihonne, who always waited on Valentine, was scrubbing the vestibule.
Each clown delights in casting a stone at her. The plans of the countess were destined to be disconcerted. The servants came to tell her that Valentine was restored to consciousness, but seemed to be very ill. She replied that she would not listen to such absurdities, that it was all affectation; but Mihonne insisted upon her going up and judging for herself.
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