“Poor sister—poor Marie-Anne—you will never know what it costs me to refuse you, to separate myself from you. But this must be. In even coming here I have been guilty of an imprudent act. You do not understand to what perils you will be exposed if people suspect any bond between us. I trust you and Maurice may lead a calm and happy life. It would be a crime for me to mix you up with my wild schemes. Think of me sometimes, but do not try to see me, or even to learn what has become of me. A man like me struggles, triumphs, or perishes alone.”
He kissed Marie-Anne passionately, then lifted her, placed her in a chair, and freed himself from her detaining hands.
“Adieu!” he cried; “when you see me again, our father will be avenged!”
She sprang up to rush after him and to call him back. Too late!
He had fled.
“It is over,” murmured the wretched girl; “my brother is lost. Nothing will restrain him now.”
A vague, inexplicable, but horrible fear, contracted her heart. She felt that she was being slowly but surely drawn into a whirlpool of passion, rancor, vengeance, and crime, and a voice whispered that she would be crushed.
But other thoughts soon replaced these gloomy presentiments.
One evening, while she was preparing her little table, she heard a rustling sound at the door. She turned and looked; someone had slipped a letter under the door.
Courageously, and without an instant’s hesitation, she sprang to the door and opened it. No one was there!