“If I did, sir, it were quite as brave as to mock a poor criminal on the way to his execution!”
“That is the boy! I know him now! the very same lad!” cried the lady, as, stooping behind Berthier's chair, she stretched out her hand toward me. “Come here; are you not Colonel Mahon's godson?”
I looked her full in the face; and whether her own thoughts gave the impulse, or that something in my stare suggested it, she blushed till her cheek grew crimson.
“Poor Charles was so fond of him!” whispered she in Berthier's ear; and, as she spoke, the expression of her face at once recalled where I had seen her, and I now perceived that she was the same person I had seen at table with Colonel Mahon, and whom I believed to be his wife.
A low whispering conversation now ensued between the general and her, at the close of which, he turned to me and said,
“Madame Merlancourt has deigned to take an interest in you—you are pardoned. Remember, sir, to whom you owe your life, and be grateful to her for it.”
I took the hand she extended toward me, and pressed it to my lips.
“Madame,” said I, “there is but one favor more I would ask in this world, and with it I could think myself happy.”
“But can I grant it, mon cher,” said she, smiling.
“If I am to judge from the influence I have seen you wield, madame, here and elsewhere, this petition will easily be accorded.”