And obstinately the same questions returned to her lips,
“Where is he now? What is he doing? What is he thinking about? How can he leave us without news? Is it possible that it is a woman who has driven him into the precipice? And, if so, who is that woman?”
Very different were Mlle. Gilberte’s thoughts.
The great calamity that befell her family had brought about the sudden realization of her hopes. Her father’s disaster had given her an opportunity to test the man she loved; and she had found him even superior to all that she could have dared to dream. The name of Favoral was forever disgraced; but she was going to be the wife of Marius, Marquise de Tregars.
And, in the candor of her loyal soul, she accused herself of not taking enough interest in her mother’s grief, and reproached herself for the quivers of joy which she felt within her.
“Where is Maxence?” asked Mme. Favoral.
“Where is M. de Tregars? Why have they told us nothing of their projects?”
“They will, no doubt, come home to dinner,” replied Mlle. Gilberte.
So well was she convinced of this, that she had given orders to the servant to have a somewhat better dinner than usual; and her heart was beating at the thought of being seated near Marius, between her mother and her brother.
At about six o’clock, the bell rang violently.