Why had he not seen her
again? He would have spared himself twenty years of doubt as to Albert's
birth. Instead of an isolated existence, he would have led a happy,
joyous life.
Then he remembered the countess's death. She also had loved him, and had
died of her love.
He had not understood them; he had killed them both.
The hour of expiation had come; and he could not say: "Lord, the
punishment is too great."
And yet, what punishment, what misfortunes, during the last five days!
"Yes," he stammered, "she predicted it. Why did I not listen to her?"
Madame Gerdy's brother pitied the old man, so severely tried. He held
out his hand.
"M. de Commarin," he said, in a grave, sad voice, "my sister forgave
you long ago, even if she ever had any ill feeling against you. It is my
turn to-day; I forgive you sincerely."
"Thank you, sir," murmured the count, "thank you!" and then he added:
"What a death!"
"Yes," murmured Claire, "she breathed her last in the idea that her son
was guilty of a crime. And we were not able to undeceive her."
"At least," cried the count, "her son should be free to render her his
last duties; yes, he must be.
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