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Updated: May 16, 2025
She felt certain that, within the required delay, he would conquer that indispensable fortune. Then he might present himself boldly. He would take her, away from the miserable surroundings among which she seemed fated to live: she would become the Marchioness de Tregars.
And, bouncing to the piano, she began an accompaniment loud enough to crack the window-panes, singing at the same time the popular refrain of the "Young Ladies of Pautin": Cashier, you've got the bag; Quick on your little nag, And then, ho, ho, for Belgium! Any one but Marius de Tregars would have been doubtless strangely surprised at Mlle. de Thaller's manners.
When she thought that Marius de Tregars was about to leave Paris to become a soldier, to fight, to die perhaps, she felt her head whirl; she saw nothing around her but despair and chaos. And, the more she thought, the more certain she felt that Marius could not have trusted solely to the chance gossip of the Signor Pulei to communicate to her his determination.
"And now," he resumed, "you must understand the enormous interest we have in knowing what has become of him." "I have already told you." M. de Tregars had risen, in his turn. Taking Mme. Zelie's hands, and fixing upon her one of those acute looks, which search for the truth down to the innermost recesses of the conscience,
But he felt upon him such threatening eyes, that he dared not even make a gesture of denial. "Whatever you do will be satisfactory," he said in the tone of a man who sees himself lost. And, as he was going out of the door, M. de Tregars stepped into M. Latterman's private office. He remained only five minutes; and when he joined Maxence, whom he had begged to wait for him,
All the blood in M. Costeclar's veins rushed to his face. "You!" he interrupted insolently: "I do not know you." Imperturbable, M. de Tregars was drawing off his gloves. "Are you quite certain of that?" he replied. "Come, you certainly know my old friend, M. de Villegre?" An evident feeling of anxiety appeared on M. Costeclar's countenance. "I do," he stammered.
Alone in the evening, by the side of the hearth where a few pieces of green wood smoked without burning, they started at each of the distant reports of the cannon. At each detonation that shook the window-panes, Mme. Favoral thought that it was, perhaps, the one that had killed her son. And Mlle. Gilberte was thinking of Marius de Tregars. The accursed days of November and December had come.
It was not to M. de Tregars that he went first, however, but to the Hotel des Folies. "Mlle. Lucienne has just come home with a big bundle," said Mme. Fortin to Maxence, with her pleasantest smile, as soon as she had seen him emerge from the shades of the corridor.
Violent nervous shudders shook his frame: his face became purple. He drew himself up, and, brandishing the letters which he held in his hand, "But all is not over!" he exclaimed. "There are proofs which neither the baron nor his wife know that I have. I have the proof of the infamous swindle of which the Marquis de Tregars was the victim.
Now we'll have some fun!" At that very moment, M. de Tregars and Mlle. Gilberte reached the Rue St. Gilles. Hearing that her husband had been found, "I must see him!" exclaimed Mme. Favoral. And, in spite of any thing they could tell her, she threw a shawl over her shoulders, and started with Mlle. Gilberte. When they had entered Mme.
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