Conversation with a Lord and Master

           

           Alas,ourfrailtyisthecause,notwe;

           Forsuchaswearemadeof,suchwebe.TwelfthNight.

           ItwaswithachildishpleasurethatforawholehourJulienputthewordstogether.Ashecameoutofhisroom,hemethispupilswiththeirmother.Shetooktheletterwithasimplicityandacouragewhosecalmnessterrifiedhim.

           "Isthemouth-gluedryenoughyet?"sheaskedhim.

           "Andisthisthewomanwhowassomaddenedbyremorse?"hethought."Whatareherplansatthismoment?"Hewastooproudtoaskher,butshehadneverperhapspleasedhimmore.

           "Ifthisturnsoutbadly,"sheaddedwiththesamecoolness,"Ishallbedeprivedofeverything.Takechargeofthis,andburyitinsomeplaceofthemountain.Itwillperhapsonedaybemyonlyresource."

           Shegavehimaglasscaseinredmoroccofilledwithgoldandsomediamonds.

           "Nowgo,"shesaidtohim.

           Shekissedthechildren,embracingtheyoungesttwice.Julienremainedmotionless.Shelefthimatarapidpacewithoutlookingathim.

           FromthemomentthatM.deRênalhadopenedtheanonymousletterhislifehadbeenawful.Hehadnotbeensoagitatedsinceaduelwhichhehadjustmissedhavingin1816,andtodohimjustice,theprospectofreceivingabulletwouldhavemadehimlessunhappy.Hescrutinisedtheletterfromeverystandpoint."Isthatnotawoman’shandwriting?"hesaidtohimself.Inthatcase,whatwomanhadwrittenit?HereviewedallthosewhomheknewatVerrièreswithoutbeingabletofixhissuspicionsonanyone.Couldamanhavedictatedthatletter?Whowasthatman?Equaluncertaintyonthispoint.

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