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Updated: June 16, 2025
Seeing the man on his knees, she could not comprehend it, and only exclaimed, simply: "Are you mad, Vautrot?" "Yes, I am mad!" Vautrot threw his hair back with a romantic gesture common to him, and, as he believed, to the poets-"Yes, I am mad with love and with pity, for I see your sufferings, pure and noble victim!" The Countess only stared in blank astonishment.
But Vautrot, whenever he looked at her, wore such a sympathetic air and seemed so mortified when she did not invite him to stay, that, even when wearied of him, she frequently did so. About the end of the month of April, M. Vautrot was alone with the Countess de Camors about ten o'clock in the evening. They were reading Goethe's Faust, which she had never before heard.
Vautrot was truly in search of a place, had he consented to accept one fitted to his talents; but he was, as will be remembered, one of those whose vanity was greater than his merit, and one who loved an office better than work. Vautrot had at this time fallen into the depth of want and distress, which, if aggravated, would prompt him to evil and even to crime.
Madame de la Roche-Jugan did not shrink from the probability which was most likely of an encounter between the General and Camors. Every one knows the disdainful intrepidity of women in the matter of duels. She had no scruple, therefore, in engaging Vautrot in the meritorious work she meditated.
Besides, he had lost the only interest he could desire to subserve, for he knew M. Vautrot had done him the compliment of courting his Wife. And he really esteemed him a little less low, after discovering this gentlemanly taste!
Camors professed for him and for his solemn airs an utter contempt, which he did not always take the trouble to conceal; and Vautrot trembled when some burning sarcasm fell from such a height on the old wound of his vanity that wound which was ever sore within him.
Madame de la Roche-Jugan finally offered to send Vautrot to her, that she might herself interrogate him. Madame de Tecle, affecting an incredulity and a tranquillity she did not feel, refused and withdrew. On her returning to her daughter, she forced herself to deceive her as to the impressions she had received, but she did not succeed; for her anxious face belied her reassuring words.
Mine at least would have been sincere; mine would have been faithful: mine would not have been an infamous snare!" The emphasis of these words displayed so evident an intention, the countenance of the young woman changed immediately. She moved uneasily on her fauteuil. "What do you mean, Monsieur Vautrot?" "Nothing, Madame, which you do not know, I think," he replied, meaningly. She rose.
But Vautrot, whenever he looked at her, wore such a sympathetic air and seemed so mortified when she did not invite him to stay, that, even when wearied of him, she frequently did so. About the end of the month of April, M. Vautrot was alone with the Countess de Camors about ten o'clock in the evening. They were reading Goethe's Faust, which she had never before heard.
On this foundation of truth she did not fear to frame the most odious suspicions; and Vautrot, baffled like her in his vengeance and in his envy, had aided her. A few sinister rumors, escaping apparently from this source, had even crept at this time into Parisian society.
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