“Leave this moment,” she ordered.
But he seemed in no wise disposed to do so: on the contrary, paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot, his lips trembling, and smiling a strange smile, he advanced towards Mlle. Gilberte.
“What!” said he. “You are in trouble, I kindly come to offer my services, and this is the way you receive me! You prefer to work, do you? Go ahead then, my lovely one, prick your pretty fingers, and redden your eyes. My time will come. Fatigue and want, cold in the winter, hunger in all seasons, will speak to your little heart of that kind Costeclar who adores you, like a big fool that he is, who is a serious man and who has money,—much money.”
Beside herself,
“Wretch!” cried the girl, “leave, leave at once.”
“One moment,” said a strong voice.
M. Costeclar looked around.
Marius de Tregars stood within the frame of the open door.
“Marius!” murmured Mlle. Gilberte, rooted to the spot by a surprise hardly less immense than her joy.
To behold him thus suddenly, when she was wondering whether she would ever see him again; to see him appear at the very moment when she found herself alone, and exposed to the basest outrages, —it was one of those fortunate occurrences which one can scarcely realize; and from the depth of her soul rose something like a hymn of thanks.