“They are trying to destroy me. Oh! promise to give me Celeste, and you shall see what a glorious life I will make you share. If you hesitate—very good; that is saying you will be wholly mine, and I will have you!”
He made so rapid a movement that Flavie, terrified, rose and moved away.
“Oh! my saint!” he cried, “at thy feet I fall—a miracle! God is for me, surely! A flash of light has come to me—an idea—suddenly! Oh, thanks, my good angel, my grand Saint-Theodose! thou hast saved me!”
Flavie could not help admiring that chameleon being; one knee on the floor, his hands crossed on his breast, and his eyes raised to heaven in religious ecstasy, he recited a prayer; he was a fervent Catholic; he reverently crossed himself. It was fine; like the vision of Saint-Jerome.
“Adieu!” he said, with a melancholy look and a moving tone of voice.
“Oh!” cried Flavie, “leave me this handkerchief.”
Theodose rushed away like one possessed, sprang into the street, and darted towards the Thuilliers’, but turned, saw Flavie at her window, and made her a little sign of triumph.
“What a man!” she thought to herself.
“Dear, good friend,” he said to Thuillier, in a calm and gentle, almost caressing voice, “we have fallen into the hands of atrocious scoundrels. But I mean to read them a lesson.”
“What has happened?” asked Brigitte.