"Oh! no, indeed he don't know it! if he had, you may be sure he wouldn't have come for me. And then, you told him that your brother's name was Étienne, and everyone here calls me Sans-Cravate. But heaven has permitted me to find you in Paris; for, do you see, Liline, I am here now, and your seducer must undo the wrong he has done, or I'll kill him on the spot!"
"Oh! my dear brother, don't have such horrible thoughts! Why should you suppose that Albert has deceived me? As he told me that I should be his wife, he will certainly marry me!"
"Marry you! Poor girl; with all the fine things you learned at Clermont, you are still very ignorant! you don't know that these young Parisian dandies take pleasure in deceiving women who are weak enough to listen to them—yes, and are proud of it; that they have three or four mistresses at once; that they fall in love with every pretty face they see."
"Oh! mon Dieu, brother! do you think Albert is like that?"
"I don't think it; I am sure of it! Haven't I served him in his intrigues a hundred times—carried his love letters and his messages? Ten thousand thunders! And I laughed at it, and thought that it was all right for him to amuse himself—to deceive poor girls who were often driven to despair by his treachery—to make sport of other people's sufferings! Ah! I was a heartless villain; and, instead of serving him so faithfully, I ought to have said to him: 'Monsieur Albert, what you are doing is all wrong, and I refuse to do any more of your dirty work.'—But when we ourselves are not injured, we don't care; it seems nothing at all to us, and we even laugh sometimes at the rascality practised on others! Ah! my poor Liline! Why did father let you go to that lady's at Clermont? why didn't he keep you with him at the cottage? and me too, instead of sending me to Paris? Ah! a man ought never to part with his children! ain't they always better off with their parents than anywhere else? Come, come; you are crying now; come and kiss me: don't cry, don't despair!"
The pretty Auvergnate wept bitterly, for her brother had torn her heart by telling her that her lover was a deceiver; but she could not believe as yet that Albert did not intend to keep his promise, and she murmured between her sobs:
"Oh, brother! I am very sure that he loves me; he tells me so all day long. Why should he have brought me to Paris, if he doesn't love me?"
"Oh! he loves you enough to make you his mistress—but his wife! remember that we are only poor folk, that I am only a messenger—while he is a young man of high social position; he is rich; he wouldn't have me for a brother-in-law; why, you see, even you yourself, who have had a fine education and learned society manners, didn't dare to tell him that your brother was a messenger."
"Oh! forgive me, brother!"
And the girl threw herself into Sans-Cravate's arms, hid her face against his breast, and sobbed as if her heart would break.