“And at the same time, secures your tranquillity madam; for Emanuel will join his regiment, and Marguerite will follow her husband. You will then remain here alone, as you have, alas! so frequently desired.”
The marchioness sighed.
“Is not this all you desire, or have I deceived myself,” continued Paul.
“But,” said the marchioness, “how can I recall the promise given to the Baron de Lectoure?”
“The marquis is dead, madam,” replied Paul; “is not the death of a husband and a father a sufficient cause for the adjournment of a marriage?”
The marchioness, without replying, seated herself in the arm-chair, took a pen and paper, wrote a few lines, folded the letter, and putting on the address the name of the Baron de Lectoure, she rang the bell for the servant. After waiting a few moments, during which time, both Paul and herself remained silent, a servant came into the room.
“In two hours from this time, you will deliver this to the Baron de Lectoure,” said the Marchioness. The servant took the letter and withdrew.
“And now,” continued the marchioness, looking at Paul, “now sir, that you have done justice to the innocent, it remains to you to pardon the guilty. You have papers which prove your birth, you are the elder—at all events, in the eyes of the law. The fortunes of Emanuel and Marguerite are yours by right. What do you require in exchange for these papers?”
Paul took them from his pocket, and showing them to the marchioness, said, “Here are the documents, look at them—they are the letters you wrote to my poor father—look here, they are moistened by my tears, for I read them last night, while watching by Achard’s corpse.” Then approaching the fire-place, he held them over the flaming wood, saying, “permit me even but once to call you mother! call me but once your son, and——”
“Can it be possible!” exclaimed the marchioness, rising.