"That monster of wickedness, whom we thought our benefactor, M. Pascal, has—"
"M. Pascal!"
"Yes, yesterday—I did not dare—I have not told you all, but—"
"M. Pascal!" interrupted Madeleine.
"Our fate is in the hands of that pitiless man; he can, and he wishes to reduce us to the last degree of misery. My God! what will become of us? What will become of our children and the father of my husband? What will become of us all? Oh, it is horrible! It is horrible!"
"M. Pascal!" said the marquise, with restrained indignation, "the wretch! Oh, yes, I read it in his face; I have seen his insolence and meanness—such a man would be without pity."
"You are acquainted with him?"
"This morning I met him at the palace with the prince. Ah, now I regret having yielded to the anger, the contempt, which this man inspired in me. Why did you not tell me sooner? It is a great misfortune that you did not, Sophie, a great misfortune."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, no matter. There is no use in going back to the past. But let us see, Sophie, my friend, do not allow yourself to despond, exaggerate nothing and tell me all, and we will find some way of escaping the blow which threatens you."