"Thanks, my lord," said Clémence, drying her tears, "for this consoling promise. But for your generous aid, I feel too well that my own strength would fail me. Still I bind myself now, and in your presence, faithfully and courageously to perform my duty, however hard or painful that duty may be."
As Clémence uttered these last words, a small door, concealed by the hangings, suddenly opened; and M. d'Harville, pale, agitated, and evidently labouring under considerable excitement, appeared before Madame d'Harville and Rodolph. The latter involuntarily started, while a faint cry escaped the lips of the astonished wife.
The first surprise over, the marquis handed to Rodolph the letter received from Sarah, saying:
"Here, my lord, is the letter I but just now received in your presence. Have the kindness to cast your eyes over it, and afterwards commit it to the flames."
Clémence gazed on her husband with utter astonishment.
"Most infamous!" exclaimed Rodolph, indignantly, as he finished the perusal of the vile scrawl.
"Nay, my lord, there is an act more dastardly even than the sending an anonymous letter; and that act I have committed."
"For the love of heaven, explain yourself!"
"Instead of at once fearlessly and candidly showing you this letter, I concealed its contents from you. I feigned calmness and tranquillity, while jealousy, rage, and despair filled my heart. Nor is this all. To what detestable meanness do you suppose, my lord, my ungoverned passions led me? Why, to enact the part of a spy,—to hide myself basely and contemptibly behind this door, to overhear your conversation and espy your actions. Yes, hate me, despise me as you will, I merit all for having insulted you by a suspicion. Oh, the writer of these fiendish letters knew well the culpable weakness of him to whom they were addressed. But, after all I have heard,—for not a word has escaped me, and I now know the nature of the interest which attracts you to frequent the Rue du Temple,—after having, by my mean and unworthy jealousy, given support to the base calumny by believing it even for an instant, how can I hope for pardon, though I sue for it upon my knees? Still, still, I venture to implore from you, so superior to myself in nobleness and generosity of soul, pity, and, if you can, forgiveness for the wrong I have done you!"
"No more of this, my dear Albert," said Rodolph, extending his hands towards his friend with the most touching cordiality; "you have nothing to ask pardon for. Indeed, I feel quite delighted to find you have discovered the secrets of Madame d'Harville and myself. Now that all further restraint is at an end, I shall be able to lecture you as much and as frequently as I choose. But, what is better still, you are now installed as the confidant of Madame d'Harville,—that is to say, you now know what to expect from a heart so pure, so generous, and so noble as hers."