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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Go to bed and sleep in peace," said Madame Marneffe. "Isn't she clever?" thought Crevel. "She has saved me. She is adorable!" As Marneffe disappeared, the Mayor took Valerie's hands and kissed them, leaving on them the traces of tears. "It shall all stand in your name," he said. "That is true love," she whispered in his ear. "Well, love for love. Hulot is below, in the street.
The servants, in horror, refused to go into the room of either their master or mistress; they thought only of themselves, and judged their betters as righteously stricken. The smell was so foul that in spite of open windows and strong perfumes, no one could remain long in Valerie's room. Religion alone kept guard there.
'Even now the Cossacks are surrounding the house! She let me out through the secret passage of the old Chateau. A cloak was thrown over me by the Intendant. He was a Pole and one true to the old blood. Alixe pressed a purse upon me. An address in Paris was whispered. 'I will write! Go! For Valerie's sake, go!
During the last part of this strange and frank avowal, Valerie's voice had grown inexpressibly touching: her tenderness forced itself into her manner; and when she ceased, her lip quivered; her tears, repressed by a violent effort, trembled in her eyes her hands were clasped her attitude was that of humility, not pride. Maltravers stood perfectly spell-bound.
My life belonged to Poland, my soul to art, but my heart was a sealed temple of love, a temple where Valerie, the beloved, the secretly worshiped, sat alone on her throne. "One day a woman, radiant in youth, and reflecting Valerie's own beauty, was brought to the chateau by Troubetskoi, who had journeyed on to Vienna. It was Alixe Delavigne, the woman whom I saw last with you.
It was in pure bewilderment that Valerie questioned, helplessly, without reproach. "Meet him. Yes. What have you to say to it?" "But why meet him? Why now?" The wonder on Valerie's face had broken to almost merriment. "Did he ask you to? Really, really, he oughtn't to. Really, my child, I can't have you meeting Sir Basil in the woods at midnight."
Well might he shrink from the dread perusal of the story the story of her cowardice and folly, and of his own humiliation and despair. It was Valerie's full confession, the revelation of her woeful history as it is known to the reader, with one single reservation the name of her lover. The Duke of Hereward had wonderful powers of self-control. He read the fatal letter through to the bitter end.
Jack had never imagined it possible that he should lie. But, observing, as he was forced to, the blot on his neat, clean conscience, he found himself considering it without a qualm. His only qualm was for its success. The drive would justify him. He almost swore it to himself, as Valerie's parasol disappeared among the trees. The drive would justify him, and reinstate Sir Basil.
His earthly life was done, and he looked out into the dim beyond fearlessly. His eyes were set and sad, for he should see her face and hear Valerie's voice no more, but he would be waiting in that somewhere for her. A man in the supremer hours often turns again to the faiths of his childhood; so now Rallywood, at the summit of his life, found himself given back all those lost dreams.
The French are like the Israelites in the Wilderness, when, according to a Hebrew tradition, every morning they seemed on the verge of Pisgah, and every evening they were as far from it as ever. But still time rolls on, the pilgrimage draws to its close, and the Canaan must come at last! At Valerie's house, Maltravers once more met the De Montaignes.
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