“Ah, the miserable wretch!” he stammered with a tongue made thick by passion, “the infamous wretch! She has betrayed me; she has surrendered me. I am lost!”
Mastering the most terrible emotion he had ever felt,
“No, no! you shall not be surrendered,” uttered M. de Tregars.
Collecting all the energy that the devouring passion which had blasted his existence had left him, the former cashier of the Mutual Credit took one or two steps forward.
“Who are you, then?” he asked.
“Do you not know me? I am the son of that unfortunate Marquis de Tregars of whom you spoke a moment since. I am Lucienne’s brother.”
Like a man who has received a stunning blow, Vincent Favoral sank heavily upon a chair.
“He knows all,” he groaned.
“Yes, all!”
“You must hate me mortally.”