, I have read all your
correspondence with Madame Gerdy. All!" added he, emphasising the word,
already so significant.

The count, as though stung by a serpent, started up with such violence
that he overturned his chair.

"Not another word!" cried he in a terrible voice. "I forbid you to
speak!" But he no doubt soon felt ashamed of his violence, for he
quietly raised his chair, and resumed in a tone which he strove to
render light and rallying: "Who will hereafter refuse to believe in
presentiments? A couple of hours ago, on seeing your pale face at
the railway station, I felt that you had learned more or less of this
affair. I was sure of it."

There was a long silence. With one accord, father and son avoided
letting their eyes meet, lest they might encounter glances too eloquent
to bear at so painful a moment.

"You were right, sir," continued the count, "our honour is involved. It
is important that we should decide on our future conduct without delay.
Will you follow me to my room?"

He rang the bell, and a footman appeared almost immediately.

"Neither the viscount nor I am at home to any one," said M. de Commarin,
"no matter whom."

CHAPTER IX.

The revelation which had just taken place, irritated much more than
it surprised the Count de Commarin. For twenty years, he had been
constantly expecting to see the truth brought to light. He knew that
there can be no secret so carefully guarded that it may not by some
chance escape; and his had been known to four people, three of whom were
still living.

He had not forgotten that he had been imprudent enough to trust it to
paper, knowing all the while that it ought never to have been written.
How was it that he, a prudent diplomat, a statesman, full of precaution,
had been so foolish? How was it that he had allowed this fatal
correspondence to remain in existence! Why had he not destroyed, at no
matter what cost, these overwhelming proofs, which sooner or later might
be used against him? Such imprudence could only have arisen from an
absurd passion, blind and insensible, even to madness.

So long as he was Valerie's lover, the count never thought of asking
the return of his letters from his beloved accomplice. If the idea had
occurred to him, he would have repelled it as an insult to the character
of his angel. What reason could he have had to suspect her discretion?
None. He would have been much more likely to have supposed her desirous
of removing ever