Stretched on the cushions of the cab,
lulled by its monotonous jolts, Noel gave no thought to the future, he
did not even think over what he should say to Juliette. No. He passed
involuntarily in review the events which had brought on and hastened the
catastrophe, like a man on the point of death, reviews the tragedy or
the comedy of his life.
Just one month before, ruined, at the end of his expedients and
absolutely without resources, he had determined, cost what it might,
to procure money, so as to be able to continue to keep Madame Juliette,
when chance placed in his hands Count de Commarin's correspondence.
Not only the letters read to old Tabaret, and shown to Albert, but also
those, which, written by the count when he believed the substitution an
accomplished fact, plainly established it.
The reading of these gave him an hour of mad delight.
He believed himself the legitimate son; but his mother soon undeceived
him, told him the truth, proved to him by several letters she had
received from Widow Lerouge, called on Claudine to bear witness to it,
and demonstrated it to him by the scar he bore.
But a falling man never selects the branch he tries to save himself by.
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