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that he would be his advocate.”

      These assertions did not seem to reassure the young girl. She thought to herself, “What then has this Noel done for Albert?” But she made no remark.

      “I will send for him,” continued M. de Commarin; “he is now with Albert’s mother, who brought him up, and who is now on her deathbed.”

      “Albert’s mother!”

      “Yes, my child. Albert will explain to you what may perhaps seem to you an enigma. Now time presses. But I think —”

      He stopped suddenly. He thought, that, instead of sending for Noel at Madame Gerdy’s, he might go there himself. He would thus see Valerie! and he had longed to see her again so much!

      It was one of those actions which the heart urges, but which one does not dare risk, because a thousand subtle reasons and interests are against it.

      One wishes, desires, and even longs for it; and yet one struggles, combats, and resists. But, if an opportunity occurs, one is only too happy to seize it; then one has an excuse with which to silence one’s conscience.

      In thus yielding to the impulse of one’s feelings, one can say: “It was not I who willed it, it was fate.”

      “It will be quicker, perhaps,” observed the count, “to go to Noel.”

      “Let us start then, sir.”

      “I hardly know though, my child,” said the old gentleman, hesitating, “whether I may, whether I ought to take you with me. Propriety —”

      “Ah, sir, propriety has nothing to do with it!” replied Claire impetuously. “With you, and for his sake, I can go anywhere. Is it not indispensable that I should give some explanations? Only send word to my grandmother by Schmidt, who will come back here and await my return. I am ready, sir.”

      “Very well, then,” said the count.

      Then, ringing the bell violently, he called to the servant, “My carriage.”

      In descending the steps, he insisted upon Claire’s taking his arm. The gallant and elegant politeness of the friend of the Count d’Artois reappeared.

      “You have taken twenty years from my age,” he said; “it is but right that I should devote to you the youth you have restored to me.”

      As soon as Claire had entered the carriage, he said to the footman: “Rue St. Lazare, quick!”

      Whenever the count said “quick,” on entering his carriage, the pedestrians had to get out of the way. But the coachman was a skillful driver, and arrived without accident.

      Aided by the concierge’s directions, the count and the young girl went towards Madame Gerdy’s apartments. The count mounted slowly, holding tightly to the balustrade, stopping at every landing to recover his breath. He was, then, about to see her again! His emotion pressed his heart like a vice.

      “M. Noel Gerdy?” he asked of the servant.

      The advocate had just that moment gone out. She did not know where he had gone; but he had said he should not be out more than half an hour.

      “We will wait for him, then,” said the count.

      He advanced; and the servant drew back to let them pass. Noel had strictly forbidden her to admit any visitors; but the Count de Commarin was one of those whose appearance makes servants forget all their orders.

      Three persons were in the room into which the servant introduced the count and Mademoiselle d’Arlange.

      They were the parish priest, the doctor, and a tall man, an officer of the Legion of Honour, whose figure and bearing indicated the old soldier.

      They were conversing near the fireplace, and the arrival of strangers appeared to astonish them exceedingly.

      In bowing, in response to M. de Commarin’s and Claire’s salutations, they seemed to inquire their business: but this hesitation was brief, for the soldier almost immediately offered Mademoiselle d’Arlange a chair.

      The count considered that his presence was inopportune; and he thought that he was called upon to introduce himself, and explain his visit.

      “You will excuse me, gentlemen,” said he, “if I am indiscreet. I did not think of being so when I asked to wait for Noel, whom I have the most pressing need of seeing. I am the Count de Commarin.”

      At this name, the old soldier let go the back of the chair which he was still holding and haughtily raised his head. An angry light flashed in his eyes, and he made a threatening gesture. His lips moved, as if he were about to speak; but he restrained himself, and retired, bowing his head, to the window.

      Neither the count nor the two other men noticed his strange behaviour; but it did not escape Claire.

      While Mademoiselle d’Arlange sat down rather surprised, the count, much embarrassed at his position, went up to the priest, and asked in a low voice, “What is, I pray, M. l’Abbe; Madame Gerdy’s condition?”

      The doctor, who had a sharp ear, heard the question, and approached quickly.

      He was very pleased to have an opportunity to speak to a person as celebrated as the Count de Commarin, and to become acquainted with him.

      “I fear, sir,” he said, “that she cannot live throughout the day.”

      The count pressed his hand against his forehead, as though he had felt a sudden pain there. He hesitated to inquire further.

      After a moment of chilling silence, he resolved to go on.

      “Does she recognise her friends?” he murmured.

      “No, sir. Since last evening, however, there has been a great change. She was very uneasy all last night: she had moments of fierce delirium. About an hour ago, we thought she was recovering her senses, and we sent for M. l’Abbe.”

      “Very needlessly, though,” put in the priest, “and it is a sad misfortune. Her reason is quite gone. Poor woman! I have known her ten years. I have been to see her nearly every week; I never knew a more worthy person.”

      “She must suffer dreadfully,” said the doctor.

      Almost at the same instant, and as if to bear out the doctor’s words, they heard stifled cries from the next room, the door of which was slightly open.

      “Do you hear?” exclaimed the count, trembling from head to foot.

      Claire understood nothing of this strange scene. Dark presentiments oppressed her; she felt as though she were enveloped in an atmosphere of evil. She grew frightened, rose from her chair, and drew near the count.

      “She is, I presume, in there?” asked M. de Commarin.

      “Yes, sir,” harshly answered the old soldier, who had also drawn near.

      At any other time, the count would have noticed the soldier’s tone, and have resented it. Now, he did not even raise his eyes. He remained insensible to everything. Was she not there, close to him? His thoughts were in the past; it seemed to him but yesterday that he had quitted her for the last time.

      “I should very much like to see her,” he said timidly.

      “That is impossible.” replied the old soldier.

      “Why?” stammered the count.

      “At least, M. de Commarin,” replied the soldier, “let her die in peace.”

      The count started, as if he had been struck. His eyes encountered the officer’s; he lowered them like a criminal before his judge.

      “Nothing need prevent the count’s entering Madame Gerdy’s room,” put in the doctor, who purposely saw nothing of all this. “She would probably not notice his presence; and if —”

      “Oh, she would perceive nothing!” said the priest. “I have just spoken to her, taken

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