"I can read your secret in your eyes, my poor Gervais, and so will others if you do not retire."
"My secret?" he faltered.
"That you love me—love me still, though I am the slave of this Dives. Oh, my God! fly me—leave me to my misery—a misery known to myself and Heaven only!"
Almost suffocated by his emotions—the grief and tenderness the familiar sound of her voice and this pathetic appeal all served to kindle in his breast, he rose abruptly and quitted the theatre, followed by a threatening glance from d'Escombas.
That evening he wandered long about the streets, but an irresistible fatality always lured him towards the Rue de Tournon, where Isabelle resided.
The night came on, clear and cold; there was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, and he saw all the windows of the street glittering in their pale light, and those also in that noble façade of the palace of the Luxembourg which faces the Rue de Tournon, with its pavilions at each end, and the great cupola which rises above the entrance door.
While wandering here, a person jostled him with great rudeness, and turning with a hand on his sword, he encountered the remarkably forbidding and somewhat grizzled visage of——M. d'Escombas!
"Monsieur will apologize?" said Monjoy in a husky voice, after recovering from his surprise.
"Monsieur will do nothing of the kind," growled the old man. "What the devil brings you here, Gervais Monjoy? But it matters nothing to me—so you had better walk off, and take your hand from your sword, or parbleu! remember that I have the same cane for you that has made Madame d'Escombas wince more than once!"
Maddened by the insult, the man, his words and the inferences to be drawn from them, Monjoy prayed aloud—