“So far, gentlemen, we have thought of Jacques alone. And Dionysia?”
The others looked at him, full of surprise.
“What am I to say if she asks me what the result of M. Magloire’s interview with Jacques has been, and why you would say nothing in her presence?”
Dr. Seignebos had confessed it more than once: he was no friend of concealment.
“You will tell her the truth,” was his advice.
“What? How can I tell her that Jacques has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse?”
“She will hear of it sooner or later. Miss Dionysia is a sensible, energetic girl.”
“Yes; but Miss Dionysia is as ignorant as a holy angel,” broke in M. Folgat eagerly, “and she loves M. de Boiscoran. Why should we trouble the purity of her thoughts and her happiness? Is she not unhappy enough? M. de Boiscoran is no longer kept in close confinement. He will see his betrothed, and, if he thinks proper, he can tell her. He alone has the right to do so. I shall, however, dissuade him. From what I know of Miss Chandore’s character, it would be impossible for her to control herself, if she should meet the Countess Claudieuse.”
“M. de Chandore ought not to say any thing,” said M. Magloire decisively. “It is too much already, to have to intrust the marchioness with the secret; for you must not forget, gentlemen, that the slightest indiscretion would certainly ruin all of M. Folgat’s delicate plans.”
Thereupon all went out; and M. de Chandore, left alone, said to himself,—