Part 35

“What is it?” inquired Mademoiselle Marguerite.

Laying a package of letters, addressed to M. de Chalusse, on the desk, the housekeeper replied: “These have just come by the post for the poor count. Heaven rest his soul!” And then handing a newspaper to Mademoiselle Marguerite, she added, in an unctuous tone: “And some one left this paper for mademoiselle at the same time.”

“This paper--for me? You must be mistaken.”

“Not at all. I was in the concierge’s lodge when the messenger brought it; and he said it was for Mademoiselle Marguerite, from one of her friends.” And with these words she made one of her very best courtesies, and withdrew.

The girl had taken the newspaper, and now, with an air of astonishment and apprehension, she slowly unfolded it. What first attracted her attention was a paragraph on the first page marked round with red chalk. The paper had evidently been sent in order that she might read this particular passage, and accordingly she began to peruse it. “There was a great sensation and a terrible scandal last evening at the residence of Madame d’A----, a well known star of the first magnitude----”

It was the shameful article which described the events that had robbed Pascal of his honor. And to make assurance doubly sure, to prevent the least mistake concerning the printed initials, the coward who sent the paper had appended the names of the persons mixed up in the affair, at full length, in pencil. He had written d’Argeles, Pascal Ferailleur, Ferdinand de Coralth, Rochecote. And yet, in spite of these precautions, the girl did not at first seize the full meaning of the article; and she was obliged to read it over again. But when she finally understood it--when the horrible truth burst upon her--the paper fell from her nerveless hands, she turned as pale as death, and, gasping for breath, leaned heavily against the wall for support.

Her features expressed such terrible suffering that the magistrate sprang from his chair with a bound. “What has happened?” he eagerly asked.

She tried to reply, but finding herself unable to do so, she pointed to the paper lying upon the floor, and gasped: “There! there!”

The magistrate understood everything at the first glance; and this man, who had witnessed so much misery--who had been the confidant of so many martyrs--was filled with consternation at thought of the misfortunes which destiny was heaping upon this defenceless girl. He approached her, and led her gently to an arm-chair, upon which she sank, half fainting. “Poor child!” he murmured. “The man you had chosen--the man whom you would have sacrificed everything for--is Pascal Ferailleur, is he not?”

“Yes, it is he.”

“He is an advocate?”

“As I have already told you, monsieur.”

“Does he live in the Rue d’Ulm?”

“Yes.”

The magistrate shook his head sadly. “It is the same,” said he. “I also know him, my poor child; and I loved and honored him. Yesterday I should have told you that he was worthy of you. He was above slander. But now, see what depths love of play has brought him to. He is a thief!”

Mademoiselle Marguerite’s weakness vanished. She sprang from her chair, and indignantly faced the magistrate. “It is false!” she cried, vehemently; “and what that paper says is false as well!”

Had her reason been affected by so many successive blows? It seemed likely; for, livid a moment before, her face had now turned scarlet. She trembled nervously from head to foot, and there was a gleam of insanity in her big black eyes.

“If she doesn’t weep, she is lost,” thought the magistrate. And, instead of encouraging her to hope, he deemed it best to try and destroy what he considered a dangerous illusion. “Alas! my poor child,” he said sadly, “you must not deceive yourself. The newspapers are often hasty in their judgment; but an article like that is only published when proof of its truth is furnished by witnesses of unimpeachable veracity.”

She shrugged her shoulders as if she were listening to some monstrous absurdities, and then thoughtfully muttered: “Ah! now Pascal’s silence is explained: now I understand why he has not yet replied to the letter I wrote him last night.”

The magistrate persevered, however, and added: “So, after the article you have just read, no one can entertain the shadow of a doubt.”

Mademoiselle Marguerite hastily interrupted him. “But I have not doubted him for a second!” she exclaimed. “Doubt Pascal! I doubt Pascal! I would sooner doubt myself. I might commit a dishonorable act; I am only a poor, weak, ignorant girl, while he--he----You don’t know, then, that he was my conscience? Before undertaking anything, before deciding upon anything, if ever I felt any doubt, I asked myself, ‘What would he do?’ And the mere thought of him is sufficient to banish any unworthy idea from my heart.” Her tone and manner betokened complete and unwavering confidence; and her faith imparted an almost sublime expression to her face. “If I was overcome, monsieur,” she continued, “it was only because I was appalled by the audacity of the accusation. How was it possible to make Pascal even SEEM to be guilty of a dishonorable act? This is beyond my powers of comprehension. I am only certain of one thing--that he is innocent. If the whole world rose to testify against him, it would not shake my faith in him, and even if he confessed that he was guilty I should be more likely to believe that he was crazed than culpable!”

A bitter smile curved her lips, she was beginning to judge the situation more correctly, and in a calmer tone she resumed: “Moreover, what does circumstantial evidence prove? Did you not this morning hear all our servants declaring that I was accountable for M. de Chalusse’s millions? Who knows what might have happened if it had not been for your intervention? Perhaps, by this time, I should have been in prison.”

“This is not a parallel case, my child.”

“It IS a parallel case, monsieur. Suppose, for one moment, that I had been formally accused--what do you think Pascal would have replied if people had gone to him, and said, ‘Marguerite is a thief?’ He would have laughed them to scorn, and have exclaimed, ‘Impossible!”’

The magistrate’s mind was made up. In his opinion, Pascal Ferailleur was guilty. Still it was useless to argue with the girl, for he felt that he should not be able to convince her. However, he determined, if possible, to ascertain her plans in order to oppose them, if they seemed to him at all dangerous. “Perhaps you are right, my child,” he conceded, “still, this unfortunate affair must change all your arrangements.”

“Rather, it modifies them.” Surprised by her calmness, he looked at her inquiringly. “An hour ago,” she added, “I had resolved to go to Pascal and claim his aid and protection as one claims an undeniable right or the fulfilment of a solemn promise; but now--”

“Well?” eagerly asked the magistrate.

“I am still resolved to go to him--but as an humble suppliant. And I shall say to him, ‘You are suffering, but no sorrow is intolerable when there are two to bear the burden; and so, here I am. Everything else may fail you--your dearest friends may basely desert you; but here am I. Whatever your plans may be--whether you have decided to leave Europe or to remain in Paris to watch for your hour of vengeance, you will need a faithful, trusty companion--a confidant--and here I am! Wife, friend, sister--I will be which ever you desire. I am yours--yours unconditionally.’” And as if in reply to a gesture of surprise which escaped the magistrate, she added: “He is unhappy--I am free--I love him!”