Violette waited in fear and trembling for the count to speak to her; for she saw from his excitement, and from the threatening expression of his face, that he was still angry, and she dared not question him further; but, as time passed and the count, absorbed in his reflections, continued to pace the floor and to pay no attention to the girl, she mustered all her courage and said to him at last:
"Since you know my parents, monsieur, in pity's name be kind enough to tell me who they are. Is my mother still alive?"
"Your parents?" cried Brévanne, halting suddenly in front of the girl; "your parents? Ah! you want to know who they are, do you? Well, learn that you are the child of crime—treachery! Your mother was false to all her duties, she was false to the oaths she had taken to an honorable man, she was obliged to lay aside the name which she had sullied. Your father! ah! your father betrayed friendship in the most dastardly way; believing in nothing, respecting nothing, mocking at all that is held sacred in the world, turning to ridicule the most sacred sentiments, he betrayed his best friend!"
"Oh! pity, pity for them, monsieur!"
"Pity! why, you see that they had no pity for you;—for they abandoned you—and now you think that I will take care of you,—of you, their child, the fruit of their adulterous intercourse!—No, no! I do not want to see you again; your presence reopens all my wounds.—Leave my house, mademoiselle, and enter it no more."
"Oh! pardon, pardon, monsieur! if I had known——"
"As for this handkerchief, which belonged to your mother, I will keep it, for there are monograms on it and a coat of arms which you have no right to retain. Go, go; I do not want to see you any more; your presence distresses me."
Violette felt as if she were dying; but the count's wrath terrified her; utterly crushed by what she had learned, she had not the strength to say a word; she left the study and the house; two streams of tears flowed from her eyes, and she did not think of wiping them away. She crossed the lawn and went toward the gate; the gardener, who was still there, struck by the girl's suffering, called to her, asked her why she was weeping, and urged her to stop a moment in the summer-house, observing that the weather was very threatening and that a storm was brewing. Violette did not listen, or did not hear, but walked on at a rapid pace, and soon passed through the gate and left the count's residence behind.
Despairing, humiliated, distressed beyond measure at having been so maltreated by the man who had made Georget and his mother welcome, Violette walked for a long time without any idea where she was going. But what did it matter to her? She paid no heed to the road that she was following, but she walked very quickly; not to gain shelter from the rain which was beginning to fall, for she did not feel it; her head was on fire, her limbs shook with fever; but she walked on, saying to herself:
"I am a child of crime! my mother was guilty, my father was false to friendship! ah! no doubt that is the reason why he drives me from his house, and forbids me to ask help and protection from him. Well, in that case, it is not worth while to live; it was not enough to have been abandoned by my parents; now that people know who I am, I must expect to be turned away with contempt wherever I go. How he treated me, that gentleman who is said to be so kind! Oh, no! I cannot live like this, I am too unhappy. Despised by the whole world,—I had done nothing to deserve that; and now my birth is thrown in my face! Did I ask to be born?"