“Monsieur,” replied Mme. Fauvel, “my cousin is a pious, honorable woman, and nothing would induce her to countenance so shameful a transaction.”
The marquis smiled scornfully, and said:
“Who told you that I intended to confide in her?”
“But you would be obliged to do so! How else?”
“You are very simple, madame. The letter which you will receive, and show to your husband, will be dictated by me, and posted at St. Remy by a friend of mine. If I spoke of the obligations under which you have placed your cousin, it was merely to show you that, in case of accident, her own interest would make her serve you. Do you see any obstacle to this plan, madame?”
Mme. Fauvel’s eyes flashed with indignation.
“Is my will of no account?” she exclaimed. “You seem to have made your arrangements without consulting me at all.”
“Excuse me,” said the marquis, with ironical politeness, “but I knew that you would take the same view of the matter as myself. Your good sense would convince you of the necessity of using every possible means of rescuing your child from destruction.”
“But it is a crime, monsieur, that you propose—an abominable crime! My mind revolts at the very idea of it!”
This speech seemed to arouse all the bad passions slumbering in Clameran’s bosom; and his pale face had a fiendish expression as he fiercely replied: