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Updated: June 5, 2025
Mothers who had daughters to dispose of upheld him; but, for the last two years, they had turned against him, when his love for Mademoiselle d'Arlange became well known. At the club they rallied him on his prudence. He had had, like others, his run of follies; but he had soon got disgusted with what it is the fashion to call pleasure.
Mademoiselle d'Arlange, hitherto so firm, could no longer restrain her sobs. "Miserable girl that I am!" she cried, "he is suffering, he is in prison; I am free, and yet I can do nothing for him! Great heaven! inspire me with accents to touch the hearts of men! At whose feet must I cast myself to obtain his pardon?" She suddenly stopped, surprised at having uttered such a word.
It is for my sake, is it not, that you have undertaken this investigation? Oh, you are good, I know it! How can I ever express my gratitude?" What humiliation for the worthy magistrate were these heartfelt thanks! Yes, he had at first thought of Mademoiselle d'Arlange, but since He bowed his head to avoid Claire's glance, so pure and so daring.
Madame, I believe I know a party who would suit Mademoiselle Claire, an honest man, who loves her, and who will do everything in the world to make her happy." "That," said Madame d'Arlange, "is always understood." "The man of whom I speak," continued the magistrate, "is still young, and is rich. He will be only too happy to receive Mademoiselle Claire without a dowry.
Five minutes' conversation exhausted him. He shut his eyes, and tried to collect his ideas; but they whirled hither and thither wildly, as autumn leaves in the wind. The past seemed shrouded in a dark mist; yet, in the midst of the darkness and confusion, all that concerned Mademoiselle d'Arlange stood out clear and luminous.
The magistrate did not dare take the ungloved hand she held out to him. He scarcely touched it with the tips of his fingers, as though he feared too great an emotion. "Yes," he replied indistinctly, "I am always devoted to you." Mademoiselle d'Arlange sat down in the large armchair, where, two nights previously, old Tabaret had planned Albert's arrest.
Mademoiselle d'Arlange had not been imposed upon. Either Albert was innocent, or she was his accomplice. Could she knowingly be the accomplice of such an odious crime? No; she could not even be suspected of it. But who then was the assassin? For, when a crime has been committed, justice demands a culprit. "You see, sir," said the magistrate severely to Albert, "you did deceive me.
What I can promise you, and that is too much, is that I will not be against you. Take your own measures; pay your addresses to Mademoiselle d'Arlange, and try to persuade her. If she says 'yes, of her own free will, I shall not say 'no." M. Daburon, transported with happiness, could almost have embraced the old lady.
Madame d'Arlange did not perceive her courtier's absence of mind; her questions were of such a length, that she did not care about the answers. Having a listener, she was satisfied, provided that from time to time he gave signs of life. When obliged to sit down to play piquet, he cursed below his breath the game and its detestable inventor. He paid no attention to his cards.
"I have burnt it." "This precaution leads one to suppose that you considered the letter compromising." "Not at all, sir; it treated entirely of private matters." M. Daburon was sure that this letter came from Mademoiselle d'Arlange. Should he nevertheless ask the question, and again hear pronounced the name of Claire, which always aroused such painful emotions within him?
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