Her beauty, ordinarily
veiled by a sweet sadness, was bright and shining. Her features had an
animation which he had never seen in them before. In her eyes, rendered
more brilliant by recent tears but partly wiped away, shone the noblest
resolution. One could see that she was conscious of performing a great
duty, and that she performed it, if not with pleasure, at least with
that simplicity which in itself is heroism.
She advanced calm and dignified, and held out her hand to the magistrate
in that English style that some ladies can render so gracefully.
"We are always friends, are we not?" asked she, with a sad smile.
The magistrate did not dare take the ungloved hand she held out to him.
He scarcely touched it with the tips of his fingers, as though he feared
too great an emotion.
"Yes," he replied indistinctly, "I am always devoted to you."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange sat down in the large armchair, where, two nights
previously, old Tabaret had planned Albert's arrest. M. Daburon remained
standing leaning against his writing-table.
"You know why I have come?" asked the young girl.
With a nod, he replied in the affirmative.
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