Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 15, 2025
The few seconds that elapsed while she was still alone in the drawing-room seemed like so many centuries; but the door was opened, and Norbert and his wife appeared. Then, with a charming smile, Madame de Mussidan rose and bowed gracefully to the Duchess de Champdoce, making a series of half-jesting apologies for her intrusion.
He placed his arm around her waist, and was about to press his lips on that fair brow, when all at once he felt Marie shiver in his clasp, and, raising one of her arms, point towards the door, which had opened silently during their conversation, and upon the threshold of which stood Norbert de Champdoce, gloomy and threatening.
"A Marquis!" he murmured; "and the other swell-looking fellow must be M. Mascarin." Paul was about to step forward, when Beaumarchef respectfully accosted the last comer, "Who do you think, sir," said he, "I have just seen?" "Tell me quickly," was the impatient reply. "Caroline Schimmel; you know who I mean." "What! the woman who was in the service of the Duchess of Champdoce?" "Exactly so."
"I can't stop to pick and choose my words, for I feel at the present moment as if the axe of the guillotine were suspended over my head. Now just oblige me by getting out of this, and never show your face here again." "As you like. I will communicate with Champdoce." "You shall not," exclaimed Daumon with a gesture of menace.
"I can," said he, "by living like a peasant and resorting to no unnecessary expense, treble my capital in twenty years; and if my son and my grandson will only follow my example, the race of Champdoce will again recover the proud position that it formerly held."
"Surely," remarked the doctor, "it is not the idea of a trifling operation that you will not feel which has so frightened you?" Paul shook his head. "It is not that," said he. "What, then, is it?" "Simply that the real man exists; I know him, and know where he lives." "What do you mean?" they cried. "I know him, I tell you the son of the Duke de Champdoce."
He often took his evening stroll in the direction of Champdoce, and, pipe in mouth, would meditate over his schemes. Pausing on the brow of a hill that overlooked the Chateau, he would shake his fist, and mutter, "He will come; ah, yes, he must come to me!" And he was in the right, for, after a week spent in indecision, Norbert knocked at the door of his father's bitterest enemy.
The Count de Puymandour lived in a magnificent house, with his daughter Marie, about three miles from Champdoce, and he was exceedingly fond of entertaining; but the gentry, who did not for a moment decline to accept his grand dinners, did not hesitate to say that Puymandour was a thief and a rogue. Had he been convicted of larceny, he could not have been spoken of with more disdainful contempt.
The writer of the anonymous communication had only known the secret too well, for the Duchess de Champdoce was awaiting a visit that evening from George de Croisenois; this was, however, the first time. Step by step she had yielded, and at length had fallen into the snare laid for her by the treacherous woman whom she believed to be her truest friend.
Where was Norbert, and what was he doing? he asked himself. At the time that Daumon was reflecting, Norbert was on the road leading to Champdoce. He had entirely lost his head, but he found that his reason was clear and distinct.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking