leaving
the furniture-shop, I found that I had still an hour and a quarter
before me. I could defer no longer, and at the risk of obliging you to
wait for me, I hastened to the Rue de Courcelles."

It was evident that Pascal felt extreme embarrassment in speaking of
Mademoiselle Marguerite. There is an instinctive delicacy and dislike of
publicity in all deep passion, and true and chaste love is ever
averse to laying aside the veil with which it conceals itself from the
inquisitive. Madame Ferailleur understood this feeling; but she was a
mother, and as such, jealous of her son's tenderness, and anxious for
particulars concerning this rival who had suddenly usurped her place in
the heart where she had long reigned supreme. She was also a woman--that
is to say, distrustful and suspicious in reference to all other women.
So, without taking pity on Pascal's embarrassment, she urged him to
continue.

"I gave the driver five francs on condition that he would hurry his
horses," he resumed, "and we were rattling along at a rapid rate, when,
suddenly, near the Hotel de Chalusse, I noticed a change in the motion
of the vehicle. I looked out and saw that we were driving over a thick
layer of straw which had been spread across the street. I can scarcely
describe my feelings on seeing this. A cold perspiration came over me--I
fancied I saw Marguerite in agony, dying--far from me, and calling me in
vain. Without waiting for the vehicle to stop, I sprang to the ground,
and was obliged to exercise all my self-control to prevent myself from
rushing into the concierge's lodge, and wildly asking: 'Who is dying
here?' But an unforeseen difficulty presented itself. It was evident
that I ought not to go in person to inquire for Madame Leon. Whom could
I send? There were no commissionaires at the street corners, and nothing
would have induced me to confide the message to any of the lads in the
neighboring wine-shops. Fortunately, my driver--the same who is driving
us now--is an obliging fellow, and I intrusted him with the commission,
while I stood guard over his horses. Ten minutes later, Madame Leon left
the house and came to meet me. I knew her at once, for I had seen her a
hundred times with Marguerite when they lived near the Luxembourg; and
having seen me pass and repass so often, she recognized me in spite
of my changed appearance. Her first words, 'M. de Chalusse is dead,'
relieved my heart of a terrible weight. I could breathe aga