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Updated: June 6, 2025
She had often in her miserable reveries tried to imagine what kind of man this Count de Tremorel was. She awarded him with such qualities as she desired for her fancied hero, with whom she could fly from her husband in search of new adventures. And now, of a sudden, he appeared before her. "Give Hector your hand, dear," said Sauvresy.
"How are you, dear Clement?" asked she, kissing him fondly on the forehead. "I am no longer in pain." "You see the result of being careless." "How many days have I been sick?" "Eight days." "Why was I brought here?" "Because you wished it." Tremorel had approached the bedside. "You refused to stay upstairs," said he, "you were ungovernable till we had you brought here."
"Don't let us encourage a hope which may be disappointed," he resumed. "I have but one means of keeping a criminal like Tremorel out of the courts; will it succeed?" "Yes, yes. If you wish it, it will!" M. Lecoq could not help smiling at the old man's faith. "I am certainly a clever detective," said he. "But I am only a man after all, and I can't answer for the actions of another man.
Sauvresy had overtasked his strength. He fell panting upon the bed, his mouth open, his eyes filmy, and his features so distorted that he seemed to be on the point of death. But neither Bertha nor Tremorel thought of trying to relieve him.
She hesitated a moment, and said: "Yes, you are honorable; I will believe you." "Then, I swear to you that Tremorel hopes to marry a young girl who is immensely rich, whose dowry will secure his future." "He tells you so; he wants you to believe it." "Why should he? Since he came to Valfeuillu, he could have had no other affair than this with you.
He took a sheet of paper from a portfolio which was concealed; like the revolver, under the bolster, and read: "Being stricken with a fatal malady, I here set down freely, and in the fulness of my faculties, my last wishes: "My dearest wish is that my well-beloved widow, Bertha, should espouse, as soon as the delay enjoined by law has expired, my dear friend, the Count Hector de Tremorel.
Bertha and Tremorel would be condemned to a year's imprisonment, perhaps eighteen months, possibly two years. It seemed to him simpler to kill them. He might go in, fire a revolver at them, and they would not have time to comprehend it, for their agony would be but for a moment; and then? Then, he must become a prisoner, submit to a trial, invoke the judge's mercy, and risk conviction.
Her pleasures comprised an evening with someone of her own class, card-playing, at which she won, and a midnight supper. The rest of the time she suffered ennui. She was wearied to death: A hundred times she was on the point of discarding Tremorel, abandoning all this luxury, money, servants, and resuming her old life. Many a time she packed up; her vanity always checked her at the last moment.
M. Plantat's confidence was indeed very great; but the more he reflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt to save Tremorel from a trial. The most poignant doubts troubled and tortured his mind. His own life was at stake; for he had sworn to himself that he would not survive the ruin of Laurence in being forced to confess in full court her dishonor and her love for Hector.
The Count de Tremorel will be Madame Sauvresy's second husband." "Never!" cried Bertha. "No, never!" "Never!" echoed Hector. "It shall be so; nevertheless because I wish it. Oh, my precautions have been well taken, and you can't escape me. Now hear me.
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