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Updated: June 30, 2025
"I wonder what magic you have exercised to rid us of that infernal company." "Women have sometimes a power of which men know nothing," was her cryptic answer. Ombreval turned to her with a scowl of sudden suspicion. "I trust, Mademoiselle, that you did not " he stopped short. His thoughts were of a quality that defied polite utterance. "That I did not what, Monsieur?" she asked.
Who are you?" demanded Ombreval advancing a step. With his sleeve La Boulaye rubbed part of the disfiguring smear from his face as he stood up and made answer coolly: "I am that dirt of a Deputy whom you befooled at Boisvert." Then, raising his voice, "Garin!" he shouted, and immediately the door opened and the soldiers filed in.
He recalled what Suzanne had said touching her betrothal to Ombreval, whom she looked to meet at Treves. This miserable individual, then, was the man for whose sake she had duped him. But Ombreval at least was in Caron's power, and it came to him now that by virtue of that circumstance he might devise a way to bring her back without the need to go after her.
Ombreval stood like a statue, thunderstruck with amazement at this most unlooked-for turning of the tables, his face ashen, his weak mouth fallen open and his eyes fearful. Des Cadoux, who had also risen, seemed to take in the situation at a glance. Like a well-bred gamester who knows how to lose with a good grace the old gentleman laughed drily to himself as he tapped his snuff-box.
They were alone in Henriette's kitchen; the faithful woman was at market. Mademoiselle was warming herself before the fire. Ombreval stood by the window. He had spent the time of her absence in the care of his clothes, and he had contrived to dress himself with some semblance of his old-time elegance which enhanced his good looks and high-born air.
In his choler he was within an ace of striking Ombreval, and might have done so had not the broad-minded and ever-reasonable old Des Cadoux interposed at that moment to make clear to the Marquis's guests a situation than which nothing could have been clearer.
Ombreval naturally enough plied him with questions as they went, to which La Boulaye returned such curt answers that in the end, discouraged and offended, the nobleman became silent. Arrived at the Porte St. Martin they alighted, and La Boulaye dismissed the carriage. On foot he now led his companion as far as the church of St.
And what time the meal proceeded Ombreval with two soldiers standing behind his chair-penned his letter to Mademoiselle de Bellecour. Had La Boulaye inspired by the desire to avenge himself for the treachery of which he had been the victim dictated that epistle, t could not have been indicted in a manner better suited to his ends.
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