He felt, in despair, that
his life was broken, ruined. A man may well feel so, when all women are
as nothing to him except one, whom he may never dare hope to possess.
Too pious a man to think of suicide, he asked himself with anguish what
would become of him when he threw aside his magistrate's robes.
Then he turned again to the business in hand. In any case, innocent
or guilty, Albert was really the Viscount de Commarin, the count's
legitimate son. But was he guilty? Evidently he was not.
"I think," exclaimed M. Daburon suddenly, "I must speak to the Count de
Commarin. Constant, send to his house a message for him to come here at
once; if he is not at home, he must be sought for."
M. Daburon felt that an unpleasant duty was before him. He would be
obliged to say to the old nobleman: "Sir, your legitimate son is not
Noel, but Albert." What a position, not only painful, but bordering on
the ridiculous! As a compensation, though, he could tell him that Albert
was innocent.
To Noel he would also have to tell the truth: hurl him to earth, after
having raised him among the clouds. What a blow it would be! But,
without a doubt, the count would make him some compensation; at least,
he ought to.
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