“Was madame sick in the night?” asked Marie at last in an undertone.
“No, no, I haven’t been sick,” replied Adeline, blushing; then she hid her face in her handkerchief and tried to restrain her sobs.
“Pardi!” rejoined the kind-hearted Marie, “madame does very wrong to grieve like this. Mon Dieu! husbands all act the same way; they seem to have a sort of rage for doing the town! You can’t keep them from it. But they get over it; and madame is so good that——”
“Leave me.”
The domestic was about to go away, but Adeline recalled her.
“Marie, did anybody come to the house last night?”
“Did anybody come—last night!” and the maid looked at her mistress in amazement, for she could not understand her question.
“Yes, did you hear anyone knock? Was there any noise?”
“If anybody knocked at night, it couldn’t be anybody but monsieur, but he did not come in; we were not disturbed, thank God! And everybody slept soundly; that isn’t surprising after the hurly-burly of the night before last; we were tired out.”
Adeline dismissed her maid, feeling a little more tranquil; she was certain at all events that her dishonor was a secret; she went to her little Ermance; she took her in her arms, and sought consolation with her; a voice within told her that she was not to blame; she felt that it was true, and recovered a little courage. Intent alone constitutes the crime, and Adeline felt the most violent hatred for Dufresne; she nourished that sentiment with delight; it seemed to her that the more horror she felt for him, the less guilty she was in her own eyes.