“How she loves him! How she loves this man Jacques! Sir, if any thing
should happen to him, she would die.”
M. Folgat made no reply; and nearly an hour passed, before Dionysia,
shut up in her room, had succeeded in finding all the words of which
Jacques’s letter was composed. But when she had finished, and came
back to her grandfather’s study, her youthful face expressed the most
profound despair.
“This is horrible!” she said.
The same idea crossed, like a sharp arrow, the minds of M. de Chandore
and M. Folgat. Had Jacques confessed?
“Look, read yourself!” said Dionysia, handing them the translation.