“Ah, take care, madam,” he said in a hoarse voice: “we have proof,
absolute, overwhelming proof.”
The countess stopped him by an imperious gesture, and with the
haughtiest disdain, grief, and wrath, she said,--
“Well, then, produce your proof. Go, hasten, act as you like. We shall
see if the vile calumnies of an incendiary can stain the pure reputation
of an honest woman. We shall see if a single speck of this mud in which
you wallow can reach up to me.”
And, throwing Jacques’s letter at M. Folgat’s feet, she went to the
door.
“Madam,” said M. Folgat once more,--“madam!”
She did not even condescend to turn round: she disappeared, leaving him
standing in the middle of the room, so overcome with amazement, that he
could not collect his thoughts. Fortunately Dr. Seignebos came in.
“Upon my word!” he said, “I never thought the countess would take my
treachery so coolly. When she came out from you just now, she asked me,
in the same tone as every day, how I had found her husband, and what was
to be done. I told her”--
But the rest of the sentence remained unspoken: the doctor had become
aware of M. Folgat’s utter consternation.
“Why, what on earth is the matter?” he asked.
The young advocate looked at him with an utterly bewildered air.
“This is the matter: I ask myself whether I am awake or dreaming. This
is the matter: that, if this woman is guilty, she possesses an audacity
beyond all belief.”
“How, if? Have you changed your mind about her guilt?”