‘Gaudin!’ exclaimed his companion, fixing her glance on him with that intense expression, against the influence of which Sainte-Croix’s determination could not prevail, ‘when we have fallen—step by step, hour by hour—and each time irrevocably, to all appearance, until a fresh abyss, yawning beneath our presence, disclosed a still lower hell open to receive us—when the sympathies of the world have turned away from us to cling to fresh objects, in their parasitical attachment to the freshest and most plausible support, and our hopes and fears are merged into one blank feeling of careless determination by utter despair—when all is given up here and hereafter—in such positions it is not likely that we should pause in the career marked out to be pursued for any sentiment of justice or consideration. I am determined.’
There was the silence of some minutes after she had spoken, broken only by the laboured breathing of either party, or the drip of water, as, stealing through the walls from the river, it fell upon the noisome floor. Each, was waiting for the other to speak. Sainte-Croix was the first to break the pause. He knew that further allusion to Louise Gauthier would induce fresh recrimination—that Marie would believe no protestation on his part that the attachment was over—and that by boldly bearding her, in her present access of jealousy, the utter destruction of the poor girl would be hastened. He therefore endeavoured to turn the subject of their conversation into another channel.
‘Where is your brother?’ he asked. ‘You can act as you please towards the other person, as you appear to be beyond conviction from anything I can urge. François is at present the most important object for our vigilance. Is he in Paris?’
‘He is not,’ replied the Marchioness. ‘Both my brothers are at Offemont, arranging the distribution of the effects about the estate. They will remain there for some days, and then depart to Villequoy. Fortunately François has discharged one of his servants, and is compelled to look after many of his affairs himself, the superintendence of which would otherwise fall to his valet.’
‘Is he anxious to supply the place of the domestic?’ inquired Gaudin eagerly.
‘He is now looking out for some one. But why are you thus curious?’
‘Because I have a creature in my employ—one who dares scarcely call his life his own, unless by my permission, who might fill the post with advantage.’
‘I do not see what we could gain by that,’ observed the Marchioness.
‘He might wait upon his master at table,’ said Gaudin, ‘and pour out his drink.’
He regarded his companion with fixed intensity as he threw out the dark hint contained in his last words.