“My father!” interrupted the young man,—“my father! What rights can he have over us hereafter?” And without further discussion, without awaiting an answer, he took his sister’s hand, and, placing it in M. de Tregars’ hand,
“Ah! take her, sir,” he uttered. “Never, whatever she may do, will she acquit the debt of eternal gratitude which we this day contract towards you.”
A tremor that shook their frames, a long look which they exchanged, betrayed alone the feelings of Marius and Mlle. Gilberte. They had of life a too cruel experience not to mistrust their joy.
Returning to Mme. Favoral,
“You do not understand, madame,” he went on, “why I should have selected for such a step the very moment when an irreparable calamity befalls you. One word will explain all. Being in a position to serve you, I wished to acquire the right of doing so.”
Fixing upon him a look in which the gloomiest despair could be read,
“Alas!” stammered the poor woman, “what can you do for me, sir? My life is ended. I have but one wish left,—that of knowing where my husband is hid. It is not for me to judge him. He has not given me the happiness which I had, perhaps, the right to expect; but he is my husband, he is unhappy: my duty is to join him wherever he may be, and to share his sufferings.”
She was interrupted by the servant, who was calling her at the parlor-door, “Madame, madame!”
“What is the matter?” inquired Maxence.
“I must speak to madame at once.”