And Madame Carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping. The
least moved was, for a certainty, M. de Tignonville himself, who, as we
know, had gone through much that day. But even his heart swelled, partly
with pride, partly with thankfulness that he had returned to one who
loved him so well. Fate had been kinder to him than he deserved; but he
need not confess that now. When he had brought off the _coup_ which he
had in his mind, he would hasten to forget that he had entertained other
ideas.
Mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also the
first to recover herself.
"I had forgotten," she cried suddenly, "I had forgotten," and she wrested
herself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her face
white, her eyes affrighted. "I must not! And you--I had forgotten that
too! To be here, Monsieur, is the worst office you can do me. You must
go! Go, Monsieur, in mercy I beg of you, while it is possible. Every
moment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, I shudder."
"You need not fear for me," he said, in a tone of bravado. He did not
understand.
"I fear for myself!" she answered. And then, wringing her hands, divided
between her love for him and her fear for herself, "Oh, forgive me!" she
said.
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