s
efforts were not in vain. He contemplated his situation without
weakness, exaggeration, or anger, as if it concerned another. Two facts
rose foremost before him, one accomplished, the other uncertain. On one
side, murder, on the other, adultery. No human power could remedy the
first or prevent its consequences; he accepted it, then, but turn his
mind away from it he must, in the presence of this greater disaster. So
far, only presumptions existed against Clemence--grave ones, to be sure,
if one added Lambernier's revelations to Marillac's strangely indiscreet
remarks. It was his first duty to himself, as well as to her, to know
the whole truth; if innocent, he would beg her forgiveness; if guilty,
he had a chastisement to inflict.

"It is an abyss," thought he, "and I may find as much blood as mud at
the bottom of it. No matter, I will descend to its very depths."

When he returned to the chateau, his face had resumed its usual calm
expression. The most observing person would hardly have noticed any
change in his looks. The dining-room had been abandoned at last. The
victorious and the vanquished had retired to their rooms. First of all,
he went up to the artist's apartment, so that no singularity in his
conduct should attract attention, for, as master of the house, a visit
to one of his guests who had fallen dead, or nearly so, at his own table
was a positive duty. The attentions lavished upon Marillac by his friend
had removed the danger which might have resulted from his imprudent
excesses in drinking, and the sort of poisoning with which he had
crowned the whole. He lay upon his bed in the same position in which he
had first been placed, and was sleeping that heavy, painful sleep which
serves as an expiation for bacchic excesses. Gerfaut was seated a few
steps from him, at a table, writing; he seemed prepared to sit up all
night, and to fulfill, with the devotion of a friend, the duties of a
nurse.

Octave arose at sight of the Baron, his face having resumed its
habitual reserved expression. The two men greeted each other with equal
composure.

"Is he sleeping?" asked Christian.

"But a few minutes only," replied the latter; "he is all right now, and
I hope," Octave added, smilingly, "that this will serve as a lesson
to you, and that hereafter you will put some limits to your princely
hospitality. Your table is a regular ambush."

"Do not throw stones at me, I pray," replied the Baron, with an
appearance o