Standing in the middle of the parlor, the cashier of the Mutual Credit held, bowed down beneath his glance, his wife and children, Mme. Favoral trembling, Maxence starting in mute surprise, and Mlle. Gilberte, who needed all the strength of her will to control the explosion of her immense joy.
Every thing in M. Favoral betrayed, nevertheless, much more the excitement of a disaster than the rage of a deception.
Never had his family seen him thus,—livid, his cravat undone, his hair wet with perspiration, and clinging to his temples.
“Will you please explain this letter?” he asked at last.
And, as no one answered him, he took up that letter again from the table where Mlle. Gilberte had laid it, and commenced reading it again, scanning each syllable, as if in hopes of discovering in each word some hidden meaning.
“What did you say to Costeclar?” he resumed, “what did you do to him to make him take such a determination?”
“Nothing,” answered Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte.
The hope of being at last rid of that man inspired Mme. Favoral with something like courage.
“He has doubtless understood,” she meekly suggested, “that he could not triumph over our daughter’s repugnance.”
But her husband interrupted her,