“This person has always been Jacques’s evil genius. She loves him, I am sure. She must have been incensed at the idea of his becoming my husband. Perhaps, in order to induce him to flee, she has fled with him.”
“Ah! do not be afraid, madam: the Countess Claudieuse is incapable of such devotion.”
Dionysia threw herself back in utter amazement; and, raising her wide-open eyes to the young advocate, she said with an air of stupefaction,—
“The Countess Claudieuse?”
M. Folgat saw his indiscretion. He had been under the impression that Jacques had told his betrothed every thing; and her very manner of speaking had confirmed him in his conviction.
“Ah, it is the Countess Claudieuse,” she went on,—“that lady whom all revere as if she were a saint. And I, who only the other day marvelled at her fervor in praying,—I who pitied her with all my heart,—I—Ah! I now see what they were hiding from me.”
Distressed by the blunder which he had committed, the young advocate said,—
“I shall never forgive myself, madam, for having mentioned that name in your presence.”
She smiled sadly.
“Perhaps you have rendered me a great service, sir. But, I pray, go and see what the truth is about this report.”