"This anonymous attack, which accused the prince and my wife, comes from the hand of an enemy; and yet, but an hour ago, before I saw through it, I suspected him. Him!—to believe him capable of such base treachery! And my wife, too, I included in the same suspicion! Ah, jealousy is incurable! And yet I must not abuse myself. If the prince, who loves me as his best and dearest friend, has made Clémence promise to occupy her mind and heart in charitable works, if he promises her his advice, his support, it is because she requires advice, needs support. And, indeed, lovely and young, and surrounded as she is, and without that love in her heart which protects and even almost excuses her wrongs through mine, which are so atrocious, must she not fall? Another torturing thought! What I have suffered when I thought her guilty,—fallen,—Heaven knows what agony! But, no; the fear is vain! Clémence has sworn never to fail in her duties, and she will keep her promise,—strictly keep it! But at what a price! At what a price! But now, when she turned towards me with affectionate language, what agony did I feel at the sight of her gentle, sad, and resigned smile! How much this return to me must have cost! Poor love! how lovely and affecting she seemed at that moment! For the first time I felt a fierce remorse, for, up to that moment, her haughty coldness had sufficiently avenged her. Oh, wretch!—wretch that I am!"
After a long and sleepless night, spent in bitter reflections, the agitation of M. d'Harville ceased, as if by enchantment. He had come to an unalterable resolution. He awaited daybreak with excessive impatience.
Early in the morning he rang for his valet de chambre.
When old Joseph entered his master's room, to his great surprise he heard him hum a hunting song,—a sign, as rare as certain, that M. d'Harville was in good humour.
"Ah, M. le Marquis," said the faithful old servant, quite affected, "what a charming voice you have! What a pity that you do not sing more frequently!"
"Really, Joseph, have I a charming voice?" said M. d'Harville, smiling.
"If M. le Marquis had a voice as hoarse as a night raven or as harsh as a rattle, I should still think he had a charming voice."