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Updated: June 18, 2025
Before we continue the account of this horrible scene, we must return to the Marchioness d'Harville and Madame Armand, whose conversation had been for a moment interrupted.
"Yes, madame." "What imprudence!" murmured the lady; then, after a moment's pause, she added impatiently, in a low voice, as if she feared to be overheard, "Well! I am Lady d'Orbigny!" At this name Rudolph started. It was the stepmother of Madame d'Harville.
"Sir Walter, Sir Walter, do you remember the flatteries of Baron de Graun?" said Rudolph, smiling. "Well, let it pass. I will commence then; or, rather, you will first please to read this letter, from Madame d'Harville, which will inform you of all that occurred previous to my arrival." "A letter? give it to me quickly."
I am afraid that even this will be in vain." For some minutes Madame de Lucenay had listened to the count with redoubled attention; suddenly she said, "Truly, it would be singular if these should be the same as those Madame d'Harville is so much interested for." "Who?" asked the count. "The widow of whom you speak is still young, and of a noble presence?" "She is so. But how do you know?"
At the farm where he sent me, he was only known by the name of Rudolph." "And his age?" "He is still young, madame." "And handsome?" "Oh, yes! handsome, noble as his heart." The grateful, feeling manner with which Fleur-de-Marie pronounced these words, caused a disagreeable sensation to Madame d'Harville. An invincible, an inexplicable presentiment told her that this Rudolph was the prince.
"Between ourselves, my dear Albert, I believe you a little too platonic in friendship; very sure that you are loved, you are not pliant enough to give or receive proofs of attachment." Through a breach of etiquette, which rather annoyed Madame d'Harville, a servant entered, bringing a letter to the marquis.
I was under the sad necessity of relating to him my first suspicions concerning the premature death of my mother suspicions which your highness's knowledge of the previous crimes of Dr. Polidori changed into certainty. "I was obliged, also, to tell my father how my stepmother had carried her hatred even to my marriage, and what had been her object in causing me to marry M. d'Harville.
The last time I came to pay my respects to Madame d'Harville, I asked for you; you were absent. It is now three weeks that you have forgotten me; it is very wrong." "Be merciless, your highness," said Clemence, smiling: "M. d'Harville is the more guilty, since he has for your highness the most profound respect, and he might make that doubted by his negligence."
"It is their sole merit, my lord; and they have, perhaps, this merit because they come from the bottom of the heart. I go to the jeweler," said Doublet, retiring. As soon as he was gone, D'Harville paced the floor, his arms folded, his eyes fixed and meditative.
Count on me; I will write to-day to Madame d'Harville. Where shall I send her answer?" "To Asnieres, poste restante." "What eccentricity! Why do you lodge there and not at Paris?" "I hate Paris, on account of the souvenirs it awakens," answered Saint Remy, with a gloomy air. "My old physician, Dr.
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