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Updated: June 21, 2025
She goes out every evening for her daughter, who is apprenticed to a milliner, and this time she took a drop too much, that is all!" A bitter sob was heard from the girl, who sat with her hands covering her face. Sanselme pitied the poor child. He took a twenty franc piece from his pocket. "I want a doctor," he said, "and pray make haste."
"Oh! no," answered Sanselme, eagerly, "but you are very tired, and some one must stay with her to-night." He spoke with a certain hesitation, as if he were telling a falsehood. The girl was too innocent to notice this manner. "If my mother wakes you will call me. Poor mamma! she is so kind." "I will call you, I give you my word," Sanselme answered.
It was her own proposition that she should offer her services at the concert, and when Sanselme proposed that she should go to Sabrau's, the artist, she had not hesitated in doing so. She sought to distract her mind, for she was haunted by a spectre. She had a ghastly fear that she might be tempted to lead the life her mother had led.
"But if she should die in the night! However, I am too kind-hearted for my own good. She may stay here to night. But who will take care of her?" "I will," answered Sanselme; "but I must beg that you will take her daughter out of the room." "I can give her a bed in the closet next her mother's room. But you know if it were known, I should get into trouble, because she's a minor."
The name of this woman was Danglars." Sanselme uttered an exclamation. He had hoped that his refusal would frustrate some nefarious design. "Now go," he said, sadly. "You can have nothing more to say to me." "You are mistaken! One would think that you did not care to see me." "The truth is, Benedetto, that anything connected with the past is hideously painful to me. I wish to forget."
It seemed as if Benedetto was his evil genius his tempter. He instantly realized what this sum would do for her whose welfare was his perpetual anxiety. "Will you write?" Sanselme dipped his pen into the ink and began. Some instinct warned him that he was doing wrong.
Suddenly he remembered that the Seine was not far off. Why had he not thought of this before? He hastened to the river side, but saw nothing to confirm his suspicions. We will now disclose the secret tie between this man and Jane Zeld. Fifteen years before, the convict Sanselme had witnessed a terrible scene in a cottage at Beausset, a village between Toulon and Marseilles.
As she was a foreigner, he was afraid she had gone astray. One of the men replied, in a surly tone: "If the lady has servants, how is it that she is out alone and on foot?" To this natural remark Sanselme had no reply ready. He had been guilty of a great folly. He realized this now, and felt sure that he would be watched. Jane had no acquaintances in Paris.
The mad woman tore away the rags that covered the terrible scar on her breast. "Oh! how it hurts," she said, moaning, "and how hot my head is." "But who did it?" The woman in a frightened whisper, answered: "It was Benedetto my son!" A cry of horror escaped from every heart. "Yes," exclaimed Sanselme, "and the wretch still lives.
They returned to the sick room. Zelda seemed calmer. The daughter was crouched upon the floor at the side of the bed. Sanselme spoke to her gently. "My child," he said, "I will take care of your mother to-night. You are tired, and a room is ready for you." "No! no!" cried the child. "I cannot stay here to-night, unless I am in my mother's room."
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