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Updated: June 14, 2025
Why he gave a ball on that very evening; and, when madame Ramoski reached his hotel, she found it illuminated. As she had come quite unprepared she was compelled to return as she came, very discontentedly. But to leave madame de Blessac and M. D n, and to talk of my own matters.
"Indeed, sir, you then rendered me a true service; perhaps, in that painful moment, I did not fully express my gratitude; for, at the same moment in which you revealed to me the treachery of M. de Blessac "
"Marcel! how pale you are! you do not answer!" "Marcel! this, then, is M. de Blessac?" cried Rodin, feigning the most painful surprise. "Oh, sir, if I had known " "But don't you hear this man, Marcel?" cried M. Hardy. "He says that you have betrayed me infamously." He seized the hand of M. de Blessac. That hand was cold as ice. "Oh, God!
M. D n went to Russia, therefore, and on his return came to see me, and is now one of the most welcome and agreeable of the men of my private circle. As to madame de Blessac, she continued to carry on the war in grand style. Her husband dying she married again a foolish count, three parts ruined, and who speedily dissipated the other quarter of his own fortune and the whole of his wife's.
Casting now for the first time a glance at M. de Blessac, the manufacturer drew back a step, terrified at the death-like paleness of this man, who, struck dumb with shame, could not find a word to justify himself; for he was far from possessing the audacious effrontery necessary to carry him through his treachery. "Marcel!" cried M. Hardy, in alarm, and deeply agitated by this unexpected blow.
The two friends, who had felt on their journey a little of the sharp influence of the north wind, were warming themselves at a good fire lighted in M. Hardy's parlor. "Oh! my dear Marcel, I begin really to get old," said M. Hardy, with a smile, addressing M. de Blessac; "I feel more and more the want of being at home.
Happily, it has pleased God, that, after losing that beloved mother, I have been able to bind up my life with affections, deprived of which, I confess, I should find myself feeble and disarmed for you cannot tell, Marcel, the support, the strength that I have found in your friendship." "Do not speak of me, my dear friend," replied M. de Blessac, dissembling his embarrassment.
On hearing this voice, and at sight of the pale, weeping woman, M. Hardy, forgetting M. de Blessac, Rodin, the infamous treachery, and all, fell back a step, and exclaimed: "Madame Duparc! you here! What is the matter?" "Oh, sir! a great misfortune " "Margaret!" cried M. Hardy, in a tone of despair. "She is gone, sir!"
"So soon!" said M. Hardy, with a slight movement of impatience. "With your permission, my friend." Then, as M. de Blessac seemed about to withdraw into the next room, M. Hardy added with a smile: "No, no; do not stir. Your presence will shorten the interview." "But if it be a matter of business, my friend?" "I do everything openly, as you know."
M. Hardy, on getting out of the carriage with his friend, M. de Blessac, had entered the parlor of the house that he occupied next the factory. M. Hardy was of middle size, with an elegant and slight figure, which announced a nature essentially nervous and impressionable.
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