Madeline read the letters over and over again. She picked up several others, and found them all to be in the same tone—protestations of love for the Marquis and prayers to him not to offend Monsieur Belleisle, of whom, she avowed, she stood in the greatest fear—and the forgeries were so good as almost to deceive herself.
The past was all clear to her now—she knew what she had done and what she was; she recognised the true worth of the man she had married, and of the woman who called herself her friend.
What should she do? whither should she go? For the first time in her life she could understand the feeling which prompted wretched outcast women to stand upon the parapet of a bridge and cast their miserable bodies into the depths of the blackened river; at least their woes would be ended—their weary bodies be at rest. She felt that such a death would be acceptable to her that night. Oh, if she could only leap into the darkness, and end it all!
She gathered up the letters, which still lay upon her table, threw off her bonnet, which lay like a weight upon her head, and opened her door. It was still early enough for Belleisle to be up. She would see him, speak to him; she could not wait another hour, with that newly acquired knowledge on he mind.
With this idea she left her chamber, looked first into one room, then another—and was about to return to her own in despair, when she was arrested by the sound of voices, which she recognised as those of her husband and Madame de Fontenay. She paused and listened. The pair were closeted in Madame de Fontenay’s private room, and their conversation was of an exciting nature.
Madeline soon heard her own name.
‘Emile, you are a fool,’ says Madame de Fontenay; ‘why he stays away I know not. I only know that one little note from Madeline will bring him back again.’
‘And if he comes?’
‘If he comes, mon ami, you can win from him a few more hundreds, and then make a quarrel, refuse to give him the little one’s hand, and rid yourself of him for ever.’
For a time they were silent, or spoke in undertones. Madeline was about to open the door and break up their converse, when the widow raised her voice and spoke again.