Vainly did he think over the wicked experiences of the past: none of the former successful stratagems could be resorted to in the present case.
Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be caught in a trap laid by himself.
The future was fraught with danger, worse than danger—ruin and disgrace.
He had to fear the wrath of M. Fauvel, his wife and niece. Gaston would have speedy vengeance the moment he discovered the truth; and Raoul, his accomplice, would certainly turn against him, and become his most implacable enemy.
Was there no possible way of preventing a meeting between Valentine and Gaston?
None that he could think of.
Their meeting would be his destruction.
Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of time. Daybreak still found him sitting at the window with his face buried in his hands, trying to come to some definite conclusion what he should say and do to keep Gaston away from Paris.
“It is vain for me to think,” he muttered. “The more I rack my brain, the more confused it becomes. There is nothing to be done but gain time, and wait for an opportunity.”
The fall of the horse at Clameran was what Louis called “an opportunity.”