“No; on the contrary, she ordered me to forward your petition, and to add her recommendation.”
“Well?”
“I disobeyed her orders.”
“I await the explanation you doubtless intend giving me. Go on without any interruption; I am listening.”
“Well, first, did you know that George de Walden was the husband promised me—to whom my father destined me from infancy?”
“Who was promised you!—from infancy! No, I did not know that. No matter; go on.”
“No matter, indeed; that is not the point, though it is proper to inform you of it. Neither is it a question of his misfortune, or his frightful sentence, or that terrible Siberia where you wished to accompany him and participate in a lot the severities of which you could neither alleviate nor perhaps endure. This is the point: to preserve him from that destiny, to save him, to enable him to regain life, honor, and liberty—in a word, all he has lost. His property, name, and rank can all be restored to him. It is this I have come to tell you and ask you to second.”
“All can be restored to him?” repeated Fleurange, in a strange voice. “By what means?—what authority?”
“The emperor's. I have appealed to his clemency, and my prayers have prevailed, but on two conditions, one of which is imposed on George, and the other depends on me. To these two conditions, there is a third which depends on you—you alone!”
Fleurange's large eyes fastened on Vera with an expression of profound astonishment and anguish.