“No, no, Maurice, I am not free! Ah! it is you who are pitiless! I see only too well that you curse me, that you curse the day when we met for the first time! Confess it! Say it!”
Marie-Anne lifted her streaming eyes to his.
“Ah! I should lie if I said that. My cowardly heart has not that much courage! I suffer—I am disgraced and humiliated, but——”
He could not finish; he drew her to him, and their lips and their tears met in one long kiss.
“You love me,” exclaimed Maurice, “you love me in spite of all! We shall succeed. I will save your father, and mine—I will save your brother!”
The horses were neighing and stamping in the courtyard. The abbe cried: “Come, let us start.” Mme. d’Escorval entered with a letter, which she handed to Maurice.
She clasped in a long and convulsive embrace the son whom she feared she should never see again; then, summoning all her courage, she pushed him away, uttering only the single word:
“Go!”
He departed; and when the sound of the carriage-wheels had died away in the distance, Mme. d’Escorval and Marie-Anne fell upon their knees, imploring the mercy and aid of a just God.
They could only pray. The cure and Maurice could act.