“Under another name than my own,” Hélène continued, apparently taking no notice of his interruption. She leaned toward him and her voice faltered. “I found your mother dying.”
He said nothing, but got to his feet and walked slowly to the door, where he stood looking out again. I felt for him, I would have gone to him then had it not been for the sense in me that Hélène did not wish it. As for Hélène, she sat waiting for him to turn back to her, and at length he did.
“Yes?” he said.
“It is her heart, Mr. Temple, that we fear the most. Last night I thought the end had come. It cannot be very far away now. Sorrow and remorse have killed her, Monsieur. The one thing that she has prayed for through the long nights is that she might see you once again and obtain your forgiveness. God Himself does not withhold forgiveness, Mr. Temple,” said the Vicomtesse, gently. “Shall any of us presume to?”
A spasm of pain crossed his face, and then his expression hardened.
“I might have been a useful man,” he said; “she ruined my life—”
“And you will allow her to ruin the rest of it?” asked the Vicomtesse.
He stared at her.
“If you do not go to her and forgive her, you will remember it until you die,” she said.
He sank down on the chair opposite to her, his head bowed into his hands, his elbows on the table among the cards. At length I went and laid my hands upon his shoulder, and at my touch he started. Then he did a singular thing, an impulsive thing, characteristic of the old Nick I had known. He reached across the table and seized the hand of Madame la Vicomtesse. She did not resist, and her smile I shall always remember. It was the smile of a woman who has suffered, and understands.