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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Mademoiselle d'Arlange," continued the magistrate, "has told me where you were on Tuesday evening." Albert still hesitated. "I am not setting a trap for you," added M. Daburon; "I give you my word of honour. She has told me all, you understand?" This time Albert decided to speak. His explanations corresponded exactly with Claire's; not one detail more. Henceforth, doubt was impossible.
Mademoiselle d'Arlange had not the strength to remain standing; she had fallen upon her knees, and was pressing her handkerchief to her mouth to keep back her sobs. Was not this woman Albert's mother? The worthy nun was alone unmoved; she had seen, she said to herself, many such deliriums before. She understood absolutely nothing of what was passing.
Claire d'Arlange was just seventeen years old. She was extremely graceful and gentle in manner, and lovely in her natural innocence. She had a profusion of fine light brown hair, which fell in ringlets over her well-shaped neck and shoulders. Her figure was still rather slender; but her features recalled Guide's most celestial faces.
He firmly repeated his intention to retire in spite of me, declaring himself satisfied, if I would consent to allow him a modest competence. I again attempted to shake him, by showing him that his marriage, so ardently looked forward to for two years, would be broken off by this blow. He replied that he felt sure of the constancy of his betrothed, Mademoiselle d'Arlange."
To inform me of his presence, he was to knock just as nine o'clock chimed at the Invalides. I knew that my grandmother had invited a number of her friends for that evening; and I thought that, by pretending a headache, I might retire early, and so be free. I expected, also, that Madame d'Arlange would keep Schmidt with her."
"Are you quite sure of what you are saying?" inquired the count, whose eyes betrayed his doubt. Mademoiselle d'Arlange understood his thoughts; her interview with M. Daburon had given her experience. "I state nothing which is not of the utmost accuracy," she replied, "and easily proved.
"Ah, sir!" said Mademoiselle d'Arlange bitterly, "you are like the magistrate; you believed in the impossible. You are his father, and you suspected him! You do not know him, then. You were abandoning him, without trying to defend him. Ah, I did not hesitate one moment!" One is easily induced to believe true that which one is anxiously longing for. M. de Commarin was not difficult to convince.
You risked your life, sir, and, what is also very serious, you exposed me, you exposed justice, to commit a most deplorable mistake. Why did you not tell me the truth at once?" "Mademoiselle d'Arlange, sir," replied Albert, "in according me a meeting, trusted in my honour." "And you would have died sooner than mention that interview?" interrupted M. Daburon with a touch of irony.
I say to you: 'Courage, Claire, resign yourself to the saddest, the greatest sacrifice which honour can ask of a young girl. Weep, yes, weep for your deceived love; but forget it. Pray heaven to help you do so. He whom you have loved is no longer worthy of you." The magistrate stopped slightly frightened. Mademoiselle d'Arlange had become livid.
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