"No, sir."
This answer was heartrending to Monsieur de Merret; he did not believe in it. Yet his wife had never appeared to him purer or more saintly than at that moment. He rose to open the closet door; Madame de Merret took his hand, looked at him with an expression of melancholy, and said in a voice that betrayed singular emotion:
"If you find no one there, remember this, all will be over between us!" The extraordinary dignity of his wife's manner restored the Count's profound esteem for her, and inspired him with one of those resolutions that only lack a vaster stage to become immortal.
"No," said he, "Josephine, I will not go there. In either case it would separate us forever. Hear me, I know how pure you are at heart, and that your life is a holy one. You would not commit a mortal sin to save your life."
At these words Madame de Merret turned a haggard gaze upon her husband.
"Here, take your crucifix," he added. "Swear to me before God that there is no one in there; I will believe you, I will never open that door."
Madame de Merret took the crucifix and said:
"I swear."
"Louder," said the husband, "and repeat 'I swear before God that there is no one in that closet.'"
She repeated the sentence calmly.