The countess was roused at last. What all M. Folgat’s skill and ability had not been able to accomplish, Dionysia obtained in an instant by the force of her passion. Throwing aside her mask, the countess exclaimed with a perfect burst of rage,—
“Well, then, no, no! I have not acted so, and permitted all this to happen, because I care for my reputation. My reputation!—what does it matter? It was only a week ago, when Jacques had succeeded in escaping from prison, I offered to flee with him. He had only to say a word, and I should have given up my family, my children, my country, every thing, for him. He answered, ‘Rather the galleys!’”
In the midst of all her fearful sufferings, Dionysia’s heart filled with unspeakable happiness as she heard these words. Ah! now she could no longer doubt Jacques.
“He has condemned himself, you see,” continued the countess. “I was quite willing to ruin myself for him, but certainly not for another woman.”
“And that other woman—no doubt you mean me!”
“Yes!—you for whose sake he abandoned me,—you whom he was going to marry,—you with whom he hoped to enjoy long happy years, and a happiness not furtive and sinful like ours, but a legitimate, honest happiness.”
Tears were trembling in Dionysia’s eyes. She was beloved: she thought of what she must suffer who was not beloved.
“And yet I should have been generous,” she murmured. The countess broke out into a fierce, savage laugh.
“And the proof of it is,” said the young girl, “that I came to offer you a bargain.”
“A bargain?”