“What! Jacques before the assizes? My son? A Boiscoran?” And she fell
back into her chair. Not a muscle in Dionysia’s face had moved. She said
in a strange tone of voice,--
“I was prepared for something worse. One may avoid the court.”
With these words she left the room, shutting the door so violently, that
both the Misses Lavarande hastened after her. Now M. de Chandore thought
he might speak freely. He stood up before the marchioness, and gave vent
to that fearful wrath which had been rising within him for a long time.
“Your son,” he cried, “your Jacques, I wish he were dead a thousand
times! The wretch who is killing my child, for you see he is killing
her.”
And, without pity, he told her the whole story of Jacques and the
Countess Claudieuse. The marchioness was overcome. She had even ceased
to sob, and had not strength enough left to ask him to have pity on her.
And, when he had ended, she whispered to herself with an expression of
unspeakable suffering,--
“Adultery! Oh, my God! what punishment!”