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Updated: June 6, 2025
That of society was perhaps less favorable. The Viscount de Commarin was not one of those who possess the rather questionable and at times unenviable accomplishment of pleasing every one. He was wise enough to distrust those astonishing personages who are always praising everybody.
"In about half an hour, he had finished reading; he arose, and facing me directly, said, 'You are right, sir. If these letters are really written by my father, as I believe them to be, they distinctly prove that I am not the son of the Countess de Commarin. I did not answer. 'Meanwhile, continued he, 'these are only presumptions.
Some months later, one evening, at old Mademoiselle de Goello's house, the Marchioness d'Arlange, looking ten years younger than when we saw her last, was giving her dowager friends an account of the wedding of her granddaughter Claire, who had just married the Viscount Albert de Commarin. "The wedding," said she, "took place on our estate in Normandy, without any flourish of trumpets.
The heirs of a man assassinated are in reality all benefited by the murder; while the assassin obtains at most the victim's watch and purse. Three persons were interested in Widow Lerouge's death: Albert, Madame Gerdy, and the Count de Commarin. It is plain to me that Albert is not the criminal. It is not Madame Gerdy, who is dying from the shock caused by the unexpected announcement of the crime.
"Wait before judging," interrupted the advocate. "M. de Commarin had his reasons. His mistress was false to him, he learnt it, and cast her off with just indignation. The ten lines which I mentioned to you were written then." Noel searched a considerable time among the papers scattered upon the table, and at length selected a letter more faded and creased than the others.
On the way from the Palais de Justice to the De Commarin mansion, not a word passed between the father and son. When the carriage stopped before the steps leading to the principal entrance, and the count got out with Noel's assistance, there was great commotion among the servants.
He was sincerely persuaded that the nobles of France would yet recover slowly and silently, but surely, all their lost power, with its prestige and influence. In a word, the count was the flattered portrait of his class; the marchioness its caricature. It should be added, that M. de Commarin knew how to divest himself of his crushing urbanity in the company of his equals.
Their evidence is rather peculiar." "Very well; we shall see. But I must hurry off and find the investigating magistrate, who is impatiently expecting me." Albert was beginning to recover a little from the stupor into which he had been plunged by the entrance of the commissary of police. "Sir," he asked, "will you permit me to say a few words in your presence to the Count de Commarin?
"Ah!" cried M. de Commarin, "you should have thrown them into the fire, for there was a fire, I suppose? You held them in your hands; and they still exist! Why was I not there?" "Sir!" said Albert, reproachfully. And, recalling the position Noel had occupied against the mantelpiece, and the manner in which he stood, he added, "Even if the thought had occurred to me, it was impracticable.
"Is his family, then, so illustrious," asked the magistrate harshly, "that it disdains alliance with yours?" "I should have told you everything, without waiting to be questioned, sir," answered Mademoiselle d'Arlange, "even his name. He is called Albert de Commarin." The marchioness at this moment, thinking she had walked enough, was preparing to return to her rose-coloured boudoir.
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