During their drive home, Madame de Hansfeld was gloomy and silent. She entered the Hôtel Lambert by the small secret door, and went to her apartments, accompanied by Iris.
Paula's impassioned love for De Morville was at its height,—she felt herself capable of the most desperate determinations—her reason nearly wandered. She feared, above all, that De Morville, in spite of his repugnance for the marriage which was proposed for him, would yield to the solicitations of his dying mother. He might, perhaps, gain some time, but in a week all would be decided for Paula.
Iris, seeing the sombre pre-occupation of her mistress, guessed its cause, and said to her, after a protracted silence, pointing to a long gold pin set with turquoises, and standing in a pincushion covered with lace,—
"Godmother, do you remember my words? When you desire that the thought which you dare not avow to yourself be realised, without either you or myself taking the slightest part in its execution, give me this pin,—a few days afterwards and there will be nothing left for you to desire. Since I spoke to you, the idea has taken root and sprung in the heart in which I had sown it,—it has blossomed, and now it is ripe,—once more, that pin and you shall marry M. de Morville."
"That pin?" said Madame de Hansfeld, turning pale, and taking from the pincushion the ornament, which she contemplated for some moments with anxiety and alarm.
"That pin!" replied Iris, extending her hand to take it, her eyes shining with savage brilliancy.
Madame de Hansfeld, without raising her eyes, said in a low and agitated voice,—
"What you say. Iris, is a wicked jest, is it not? It is impossible,—how could you?"
"Give me the pin, and do not you heed the rest."
"I should be mad to believe you."