‘I think you must repent having brought me here,’ said the Marchioness coldly. ‘It was badly contrived on your part not to forewarn your other favourites, that they might have been more cautious.’
‘Your suspicions are so utterly without foundation,’ replied Sainte-Croix, ‘that I shall not take the pains to refute them. At present there are other matters of deeper import that demand my attention. I expect, when you learn all, you will give yourself little care about the continuance of our liaison. We may then know some respite from the fevered restlessness and uncertainty of our connection. We have experienced but little peace since we have been acquainted.’
There was a bitterness of tone in his manner of pronouncing the last sentences that attracted the attention of the Marchioness.
‘What are you alluding to?’ she asked.
‘In a word, Marie, I am ruined. The sum of money I brought here with me to-night, in the hope of doubling it, is gone. I am deeply involved: my creditors are pressing me on every side, and I know not which way to turn to extricate myself.’
‘You judge me too harshly, Sainte-Croix,’ replied the Marchioness. ‘My sweetest revenge would be to assist you when you were utterly destitute. What must be done? The money left me by my father is in my brothers’ keeping. Not a sol is spent but I must render them an account.’
‘But one step is left to be taken,’ said Gaudin. ‘The time has arrived; they must be removed.’
Marie remained for a time silent, as if waiting for Sainte-Croix more fully to develop his meaning. At length she spoke—
‘I know not how we can proceed. I cannot tell whether it be my own fancy or there is in reality ground for suspicion, but my brothers appear to watch me in every action—every step. I see so little of them too. They are seldom in the Rue Saint Paul.’
‘We must set other agencies to work,’ said Gaudin. ‘An apparent stranger would never be suspected.’