“She mistrusts me, who would give my life for hers,” repeated Maxence.
And the idea was so painful to him, that he resolved to clear his doubts at any cost, preferring the worst misery to the anxiety which was gnawing at his heart.
And as soon as he found himself alone with Mlle. Lucienne, arming himself with all his courage, and looking her straight in the eyes,
“You never speak to me any more of your enemies?” he said.
She doubtless understood what was passing within him.
“It’s because I don’t hear any thing of them myself,” she answered gently.
“Then you have given up your purpose?”
“Not at all.”
“What are your hopes, then, and what are your prospects?”
“Extraordinary as it may seem to you, I must confess that I know nothing about it. My friend the commissary has his plan, I am certain; and he is following it with an indefatigable obstinacy. I am but an instrument in his hands. I never do any thing without consulting him; and what he advises me to do I do.”