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"It is false!" he cried. "False!" "It is true!" Mirande retorted, striking the table so violently that the room rang again and the flame of the lamp leapt up and for an instant dyed the two angry faces with a lurid gleam. "I say it is false!" the Vicomte replied sternly. "On the contrary, being at Rheims when I heard that Corinne was arrested, I took horse on the instant.
Understand me," the young man continued, his cheeks pale; "it is not by reason of any charm of hers, but because she is so like so like my wife because she seems a dozen times a day to be my wife, that my memory is unfaithful to Corinne that I dare not remain here another day!" He stopped abruptly. M. Mirande coughed. "This is a strange confession," he said, after a long pause.
"I had," the young man answered, betraying, by his agitation, that he had now come to the real purpose for which he had sought the interview. "I wish to leave, M. Mirande. I wish to leave your house at once.
If she still went delicately when other's eyes were upon her, it was rather in sympathy with the heavy air of fear and expectation which pervaded the house, which pervaded the city, than in obedience to her natural impulses. On the third evening, M. Mirande, who had been abroad all day, came home rather later than usual.
"It was false!" cried the Girondin sternly. "Do I need evidence? I have it. Whom shall I believe, you, who have betrayed me to-day, or he who remained by my side in danger?" "He could not escape," Baudouin said abruptly. His face was pale, the perspiration stood on his brow. His jealous eyes glared askance at the girl's face. Mirande had said rightly. He had yet the power to wound this traitor.
They tore Mirande from her asylum: she was brought before the inquisitor Caquerole, thrown into a deep dungeon, and fed upon bread which the jailers' dogs had refused; but what afflicted her most was that she was forcibly compelled to don an old frock and a hood, and that she could no longer be certain of not sinning.
"That is true," Mirande answered soberly; and for an instant from his place at the window, he looked into the room. "In three days you will sneeze into the sack, my friends," Baudouin continued with savage mockery. "Your married bliss, M. le Vicomte, will last but a short time, I fear. As for mademoiselle, Sanson will prove but a rough coiffeur, I doubt."
"You may certainly collect them under surveillance." "I can save M. Mirande the trouble," remarked a mocking voice in the background. "I think I can lay my hand on any paper that may be required." "I do not doubt it, Baudouin," the Girondin answered placidly. "I take it that I have to thank you for this?" There was shame as well as triumph in the secretary's eyes as he came forward.
"Monsieur Mirande!" the younger man muttered. "De Bercy!" exclaimed the other. The stranger said no more, but shaking with agitation walked to a chair and sat down. Mirande, his face rigid with passion, stood in silence and watched him do it. Then the Republican found his voice. "You villain!" he cried, advancing a step, his manner menacing.
I heard of him but yesterday at Nantes." "You heard wrongly then!" Mirande answered with a cold sneer. "This is the man whom you met at Meaux, and of whom you lied to me, saying that you might divide him effectually from my daughter that he refused to surrender himself to save her." "It was true what I told you," the secretary muttered, gazing at Bercy with hatred.
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