I'll prove that women are far more clever than
men." And, thereupon, she had seized her pen, and commenced this letter.
In Mademoiselle Marguerite's opinion, the epistle betrayed the joint
efforts of the pair. She could have sworn that the husband had dictated
the sentence: "The General feels that he should be insulting and
betraying the memory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirty
years, if he did not become your second father." On the other hand, the
phrase, "I shall find a way to persuade you to love us, and to allow
yourself to be loved," was unmistakably the wife's work. The writer's
insincerity was fully revealed by one passage of the letter. "You will
fill the place of the beloved daughter I have lost," wrote Madame de
Fondege. It is true that she had once had a daughter; but the child had
died of croup when only six months old, and more than twenty-five years
previously.

It was strange, moreover, that this letter had not been sent until ten
o'clock in the evening; but, on reflection, Mademoiselle Marguerite
was able to explain this circumstance satisfactorily to herself. Before
taking any decided step, M. and Madame de Fondege had wished to consult
their son; and they had been unable to see him until late in the
evening. However, as soon as the brilliant hussar had approved the noble
scheme concocted by his parents, a servant had been dispatched with
the letter. All these surmises were surely very plausible; but it
was difficult to reconcile them with the opinion advanced by the
magistrate--that M. de Fondege must know what had become of the missing
millions.

Mademoiselle Marguerite did not think of this, however. She was losing
her presence of mind at thought of the odious suspicions which rested
on her, suspicions which she had seemed to read in the eyes of all who
approached her, from Dr. Jodon to the Marquis de Valorsay. It is true
that the magistrate had taken her defence; he had silenced the servants,
but would that suffice? Would she not remain branded by an abominable
accusation? And even the consciousness of her innocence did not reassure
her, for Pascal's case warned her that innocence is not a sufficient
safeguard against slander.

Could she hope to escape when he had succumbed? She could tell by the
agony that was torturing her own heart, how much he must have suffered.
Where was he now? Beyond the frontiers of France? They had told her so,
but she did not, could not believe it. Knowin