“Or lose her beauty, which would be worse,” said the viscountess.
“Let us go to her!” cried the duchess.
Fortunately they arrived a few moments before the famous accoucheur, Dommanget, the only one of the two men of science whom Calyste had been able to find.
“Ursula has told me everything,” said the duchess to her daughter, “and you are mistaken. In the first place, Madame de Rochefide is not in Paris. As for what your husband did yesterday, my dear, I can tell you that he lost a great deal of money at cards, so that he does not even know how to pay for your dressing-table.”
“But that?” said Sabine, holding out to her mother the fatal letter.
“That!” said the duchess, laughing; “why, that is written on the Jockey Club paper; everybody writes nowadays on coroneted paper; even our stewards will soon be titled.”
The prudent mother threw the unlucky paper into the fire as she spoke.
When Calyste and Dommanget arrived, the duchess, who had given instructions to the servants, was at once informed. She left Sabine to the care of Madame de Portenduere and stopped the accoucheur and Calyste in the salon.
“Sabine’s life is at stake, monsieur,” she said to Calyste; “you have betrayed her for Madame de Rochefide.”
Calyste blushed, like a girl still respectable, detected in a fault.