“Gabrielle,” said Clement, with a kind of irritation, “you are always the same! Do you not understand that you are merciless towards those that love you?”
“Come, reflect a moment,” persisted she, “and answer me, Clement.”
A moment of silent anguish followed these words. Then, with a troubled voice, he said: “Be quick; lose no time. You may perhaps have an influence over him no one else could have. Make haste, I will wait for you.”
Before he ended, Fleurange was gone from the room. In less time than it takes to relate it, she returned wrapped in her cloak, her velvet hat on her head, her face concealed by a veil, ready to go. They went down without speaking a word. Clement's sledge was waiting at the door. He took a seat beside her, and they set off with the almost frightful rapidity which is peculiar to that mode of conveyance. It was no longer light, being after four o'clock, but the brilliant clearness of the night, increased by the reflection of the snow, sufficiently lighted the way, and the horses went as fast as in the daytime. The place of their destination was on the opposite bank of the Neva, much lower down than the Princess Catherine's house. They therefore crossed the river diagonally, following a road traced out by the pine branches which from time to time indicated the path. They were thus transported in the twinkling of an eye from the splendor of the city into the midst of what looked like a vast white desert. In proportion as they descended the river, the palaces, the numerous gilded spires of the churches, with the immense succession of buildings whose effect was heightened by the obscurity, were lost in the distance, and, when they at length stopped at the very extremity of a faubourg on the right bank of the river, they found themselves surrounded by wooden hovels, with here and there some larger buildings, but all indicating poverty, and none more than a story high. Clement aided his cousin in alighting, and looked around for the person he expected as his guide. A man approached.
“M. Clement Dornthal?” said he in a low voice.
“It is I.”
“You are not alone.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I have no permission, and a woman—it is forbidden.”
“I suppose, however, more than one has entered the place?”