“And you could believe that,--you? Ah! M. de Boiscoran’s other crimes
are nothing in comparison with this! He is not satisfied with having
burnt our house, and ruined us: he means to dishonor us. He is not
satisfied with having murdered my husband: he must ruin the honor of his
wife also.”
She spoke so loud, that her voice must have been distinctly heard in the
vestibule.
“Lower, madam, I pray you speak lower,” said M. Folgat.
She cast upon him a crushing glance; and, raising her voice still
higher, she went on,--
“Yes, I understand very well that you are afraid of being heard. But
I--what have I to fear? I could wish the whole world to hear us, and to
judge between us. Lower, you say? Why should I speak less loud? Do you
think that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letter
would not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon have
satisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! I
have never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lost
already, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, without
friends.”
“But, madam, M. de Boiscoran pledges himself to the most perfect
secrecy.”
“Secrecy in what? In your cowardly insults, your abominable plots, of
which this, no doubt, is but a beginning?”