"You will bear him no ill-will at any time then?" she pleaded.
"On the contrary, he is now on my side. They are his enemies too."
"Who are his enemies?"
"The Répentignys; but fear not, Mademoiselle, he is far superior to them. He shall triumph and prevail, for I shall keep him, and heaven has appointed me its Instrument. Nothing they do can prevail against me and our side."
"Why do you say they are his enemies? They are not always enemies who carry the same name."
"Mademoiselle, I see you know not this name," he said with grave courtesy; "I see you know not this name—this name of sorrow, this name of blood—my father's blood—alas! alas! alas! alas!" and his voice trembled with infinite dolor.
"Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."
He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in an unspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.
She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statements of Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pity for him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, and it was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions on that subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenance affected her powerfully, and the words, "You know not this name of sorrow, this name of blood," troubled her. The vengeance, the killing, the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? "Oh, Germain," she thought, continuing to weep, "some heavy cloud is hanging over you."
Meanwhile the scandal had spread to several circles in Versailles, and was lit upon by the Abbé Jude, who, too happy to contain himself, ran to Cyrène and invented an order to her from the Princess to attend in her chamber; and when he had led her into the presence of her Excellency, he addressed the latter—