“You will excuse me, I trust, mademoiselle,” said he, “in having insisted upon seeing you, so that I might express my deep sympathy. I have just heard of the terrible misfortune which has befallen you—the sudden death of your father.”
She drew back as if she were terrified, and repeated: “My father!”
The marquis did not evince the slightest surprise. “I know,” said he, in a voice which he tried to make as feeling as possible, “I know that M. de Chalusse kept this fact concealed from you; but he confided his secret to me.”
“To you?” interrupted the magistrate, who was unable to restrain himself any longer.
The marquis turned haughtily to this old man dressed in black, and in the dry tone one uses in speaking to an indiscreet inferior, he replied: “To me, yes, monsieur; and he acquainted me not only by word of mouth, but in writing also, with the motives which influenced him, expressing his fixed intention, not only of recognizing Mademoiselle Marguerite as his daughter, but also of adopting her in order to insure her undisputed right to his fortune and his name.”
“Ah!” said the magistrate as if suddenly enlightened; “ah! ah!”
But without noticing this exclamation which was, at least, remarkable in tone, M. de Valorsay again turned to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and continued: “Your ignorance on this subject, mademoiselle, convinces me that your servants have not deceived me in telling me that M. de Chalusse was struck down without the slightest warning. But they have told me one thing which I cannot believe. They have told me that the count made no provision for you, that he left no will, and that—excuse a liberty which is prompted only by the most respectful interest—and that, the result of this incomprehensible and culpable neglect is that you are ruined and almost without means. Can this be possible?”
“It is the exact truth, monsieur,” replied Mademoiselle Marguerite. “I am reduced to the necessity of working for my daily bread.”
She spoke these words with a sort of satisfaction, expecting that the marquis would betray his disappointed covetousness by some significant gesture or exclamation, and she was already prepared to rejoice at his confusion. But her expectations were not realized. Instead of evincing the slightest dismay or even regret, M. de Valorsay drew a long breath, as if a great burden had been lifted from his heart, and his eyes sparkled with apparent delight. “Then I may venture to speak,” he exclaimed, with unconcealed satisfaction, “I will speak, mademoiselle, if you will deign to allow me.”
She looked at him with anxious curiosity, wondering what was to come. “Speak, monsieur,” she faltered.