“Pardon me,” said she, “I had imagined that M. de Thaller was one of those men whom you wished to strike; and I had indulged in the hope, that, whilst having justice done to your father, you were thinking, perhaps, of avenging mine.”
M. de Tregars stood up, as if moved by a spring. “Well, yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, you have correctly guessed. But how can we obtain this double result? A single misstep at this moment might lose all. Ah, if I only knew your father’s real situation; if I could only see him and speak to him! In one word he might, perhaps, place in my hands a sure weapon,—the weapon that I have as yet been unable to find.”
“Unfortunately,” replied Mlle. Gilberte with a gesture of despair, “we are without news of my father; and he even refused to tell us where he expected to take refuge.”
“But he will write, perhaps. Besides, we might look for him, quietly, so as not to excite the suspicions of the police; and if your brother Maxence was only willing to help me—”
“Alas! I fear that Maxence may have other cares. He insisted upon going out this morning, in spite of mother’s request to the contrary.”
But Marius stopped her, and, in the tone of a man who knows much more than he is willing to say,—“Do not calumniate Maxence,” he said: “it is through him, perhaps, that we will receive the help that we need.”
Eleven o’clock struck. Mlle. Gilberte started.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, “mother will be home directly.”
M. de Tregars might as well have waited for her. Henceforth he had nothing to conceal. Yet, after duly deliberating with the young girl, they decided that he should withdraw, and that he would send M. de Villegre to declare his intentions. He then left, and, five minutes later, Mme. Favoral and M. Chapelain appeared.
The ex-attorney was furious; and he threw the package of bank-notes upon the table with a movement of rage.