"Your unhoped-for presence in that fatal house proves to me that you are speaking seriously, my lord; some generous action leads you there, no doubt! But what good action do you reserve for me? What part do you propose for me to sustain?"
"That of an angel of consolation, and—pray excuse and allow me the word—a very demon of cunning and manœuvres! For there are some wounds so painful, as well as delicate, that the hand of a woman only can watch over and heal them. There are, also, unfortunate beings so proud, so reserved, and so hidden from observation, that it requires uncommon penetration to discover them, and an irresistible charm to win their confidence."
"And when shall I have an opportunity of displaying the penetration and skill for which you give me credit?" asked Madame d'Harville, impatiently.
"Soon, I hope, you will have to make a conquest worthy of you; but, to succeed, you must employ all your most ingenious resources."
"And when, my lord, will you confide this great secret to me?"
"Let me see! You perceive, we have already got as far as arranging our rendezvous. Could you do me the favour to grant me an audience in four days' time?"
"Dear me! so long first?" said Clémence, innocently.
"But what would become of the mystery of the affair, and all the strict forms and appearances necessary to be kept up, if we were to meet sooner? Just imagine! If our partnership were suspected, people would be on their guard, and we should seldom achieve our purpose. I may very probably have to write to you. Who was that aged female who brought me your note?"
"An old servant of my mother's, the very personification of prudence and discretion."
"I will then address my letters under cover to her, and she will deliver them into your hands. If you are kind enough to return any answer, address 'To M. Rodolph, Rue Plumet,' and let your maid put your letters in the post."