Just then Henri Segel arrived and confirmed the news. He had a dejected air, and was careful not to speak of the letter the colonel had had in his hand that morning. He well knew that all suspicious letters were read before the distribution of the post.
Mathilde's father also was much chagrined on hearing the news. Without deep feeling, he had, nevertheless, a certain affection for his cousin. Perhaps, also, he counted on him for restoring to health his daughter, whom he saw daily fade before his eyes. Without saying anything, he hastened to Mathilde at the hour when he was sure to find her alone. The servant said to him that she was ill, and had given orders to admit no one; but the father, using his authority, went straight to her bedroom. He found her with disordered hair, eyes red with weeping, and cheeks burning with fever. Mathilde was no longer the marble statue, cold, resigned, impassable, inert.
At the sight of an unexpected visitor she blushed with the timidity of a child. But her education had inculcated a respect, almost a veneration, for her father, who had repelled all familiarity, all confidence; she tried, with a forced smile, to conceal the violence of her grief.
"I pity Jacob," said the father abruptly. "He courts his ruin; I wish to save him."
"But how can you?" asked the daughter.
Samuel did not reply immediately. He took several steps about the room. It cost him something to be, for the first time in his life, frank with his child. Suddenly he stopped before her, and, looking at her fixedly, said:--
"Your secret is known to me. Common sense has until now commanded me to close my eyes. But the time has come to treat the wound by severe cauterization. Now or never. You love Jacob, and he loves you. This love has not died out. I believed that your childish affection would disappear, but, contrary to my expectations, it has remained permanent, and surpasses all my ideas of love. You are unhappy with Henri; he was not made for you; his spirit is earthly, and yours is exalted in a high degree."
"Nevertheless," said Mathilde, "I have nothing to say against Henri."
"You mean that he observes the proprieties; and yet he has let himself be fascinated by Muse, who deceives and despoils him. Do you wish to save Jacob? You can do it; you alone. I will arrange a divorce with Henri. He is anxious for it. Give your consent, and the thing is done; then I will marry you to Jacob, who will make you happy. You can live in Italy, and in a few years, when the country is again peaceful, you can return to Poland. I will obtain Jacob's amnesty; I have influence enough for that."
Mathilde kissed her father's hand, and said:--