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Updated: May 16, 2025
She looked at him straight in the eyes, and then suddenly bursting out laughing, "Look around you," she said, "and I am sure you'll not be long discovering a beautiful young girl, very blonde, who would be delighted to become Marquise de Tregars, and who would bring in her apron a dowry of twelve or fifteen hundred thousand francs in good securities, securities which the Favorals can't carry off.
Gilberte was sick of the sight. "Enough," she interrupted, "enough!" Feeling no longer upon his shoulders the heavy hand of M. de Tregars, the stock-broker rose with difficulty to his feet. So livid was his face, that one might have thought that his whole blood had turned to gall.
For you quite remember me now, don't you? I am the son of that poor Marquis de Tregars who came to Paris, all the way from his old Brittany with his whole fortune, two millions." "I remember," said the stock-broker: "I remember perfectly well." "On the advice of certain clever people, the Marquis de Tregars ventured into business. Poor old man! He was not very sharp.
"Are you so sick as all that?" But she stopped short as she recognized M. de Tregars; and, in a suspicious tone, "What a singular meeting!" she said. Marius bowed. "You know Lucienne?" What she meant by that he understood perfectly. "Lucienne is my sister, madame," he said coldly. She shrugged her shoulders. "What humbug!" "It's the truth," affirmed Mlle. Lucienne; "and you know that I never lie."
You had but to question me, I would have answered you frankly, 'Yes, it is true I love Mlle. Gilberte; and before a month she will be Marquise de Tregars." Mme. de Thaller, at those words, had started to her feet, pushing back her arm-chair so violently, that it rolled all the way to the wall. "What!" she exclaimed, "you marry Gilberte Favoral, you!" "I yes."
"You know the name of the individual who sought a quarrel with M. de Tregars?" "His name is Corvi. He is well known in all the tables d'hote, where there are women, and where they deal a healthy little game after dinner. I know him well too. He is a bad fellow, who passes himself off for a former superior officer in the Italian army." "His address?"
Half turned towards M. de Tregars, she ran her fingers listlessly over the keys, striking a note here and there, as if to punctuate her sentences. "Ah, how nice!" she exclaimed, "and, above all, how gallant! Really, if you venture often on such declarations, mothers would be very wrong to trust you alone with their daughters." "You did not understand me right, mademoiselle."
And, in the candor of her loyal soul, she accused herself of not taking enough interest in her mother's grief, and reproached herself for the quivers of joy which she felt within her. "Where is Maxence?" asked Mme. Favoral. "Where is M. de Tregars? Why have they told us nothing of their projects?" "They will, no doubt, come home to dinner," replied Mlle. Gilberte.
Such is the man who came in, smiling, just as Maxence and Marius de Tregars had sat down at the table. M. de Tregars rose to receive him. "You will breakfast with us?" he said. "Thank you," answered M. d'Escajoul. "I breakfasted precisely at eleven, as usual. Punctuality is a politeness which a man owes to his stomach.
Her father's disaster had given her an opportunity to test the man she loved; and she had found him even superior to all that she could have dared to dream. The name of Favoral was forever disgraced; but she was going to be the wife of Marius, Marquise de Tregars.
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