"Ah, M. Cléry, is that true?" and her voice spoke her relief.
"I should be able to think better of myself if it were not," said Cléry a little bitterly. "I was a fool, and I am being punished for my folly. Dangeau warned me too. When you see him again, Citoyenne, you may tell him that he was right about Thérèse."
"Thérèse—Thérèse Marcel?" asked Aline, shrinking a little.
"Ah—you know her! Well, I trusted her, and she betrayed me, and here I am. Dangeau always said that she was dangerous—the devil's imitation of a woman, he called her once, and you can tell him that he was quite right."
Aline averted her eyes, and her colour rose a shade. For a moment her heart felt warm. Then she looked back at Cléry, and fell quickly upon her knees beside him, for he was gasping for breath, and falling sideways from the stool. She managed to support him for the moment, but her heart beat violently, and at the sound of footsteps she called out. To her relief, M. de Maurepas came up quickly. If he felt any surprise at finding her in such a situation, he was too well-bred to show it.
"Do not be alarmed," he said hastily. "He has been very ill, but this is only a swoon; he should not have walked." Then, "Mademoiselle, move your arm, and let me put mine around him, so—now I can manage."
He lifted Cléry as he spoke, and carried him the length of the corridor.
"Now, if Mademoiselle will have the goodness to push the door a little wider," and he passed in and laid Cléry gently down.
Mademoiselle hesitated by the door for a minute.
"He looks so ill, will he die?" she said.