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Updated: May 29, 2025
Will you grant me an interview on Wednesday next, at a quarter-past three o'clock? Yours respectfully, When Mademoiselle Marguerite left the dead count's bedside at ten o'clock at night to repair to Pascal Ferailleur's house, she did not yet despair of the future.
The young girl tried to sum up the impressions of the evening, and to decide upon a plan of conduct, but she felt sad and very weary. She said to herself that rest would be more beneficial than anything else, and that her mind would be clearer on the morrow; so after a fervent prayer in which Pascal Ferailleur's name was mentioned several times, she prepared for bed.
Any other dealer you might send for would act in the same way. Now, Madame Ferailleur's furniture had cost some ten thousand francs; and, although it was no longer new, it was worth at least a third of that sum. But she obtained only seven hundred and sixty francs for it. It is true, however, that she was in haste, and that she was paid cash.
Am I to regard her birth as a crime? Am I to despise her because her MOTHER is a despicable woman? No God be praised! the day when illegitimate children, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded as outcasts, is past." But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shaken by these arguments.
I do not know. I might stand face to face with him without being able to say, 'It's he. But it would be quite a different thing if I only had a photograph of him." A crimson flush spread over Mademoiselle Marguerite's face. Still she answered, unaffectedly, "I will give you M. Ferailleur's photograph to-morrow, monsieur." "Then I shall be all right!" exclaimed Chupin.
"I understood him, mother, and my mind is made up. I must disappear. From this moment Pascal Ferailleur no longer exists." That same evening two large vans were standing outside Madame Ferailleur's house. She had sold her furniture without reserve, and was starting to join her son, who had already left for Le Havre, she said, in view of sailing to America.
I thoroughly understand M. Ferailleur's character, and he is not the man to be crushed by an infamous calumny. He may seem to fly, he may disappear, he may conceal himself for a time, but it is only to make his vengeance more certain. What!
"There must be some iniquitous mystery in this affair, which neither you nor I suspect," remarked the baron. "That is exactly what my mother told me." "Ah! that's Madame Ferailleur's opinion? Then it is a good one. Come, let us reason a little. Mademoiselle Marguerite loved you, you say?" "Yes." "And she has suddenly broken off the engagement?"
The baron was stroking his chin, as was his usual habit when his mind was deeply exercised. "The first thing to be done," he replied, "is to show Coralth in his real colors, and prove M. Ferailleur's innocence. It will probably cost me a hundred thousand francs to do so, but I shall not grudge the money.
Regret, anger, and the consciousness of his present powerlessness drew from him tears which fell upon Madame Ferailleur's heart like molten lead; but she succeeded in concealing her agony. "All the more reason," she answered, almost coldly, "why you should not lose a second, but devote all your energy and intelligence to the work of justification." "Oh, I shall have my revenge, never fear.
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