"
"No, no; to-morrow morning, by twelve o'clock, you will know all, and
you'll kneel down before your wife--Oh, no! you shall not be
humiliated; you are all forgiven now; you have done no wrong. Listen,
Jules; yesterday you did crush me--harshly; but perhaps my life would
not have been complete without that agony; it may be a shadow that
will make our coming days celestial."
"You lay a spell upon me," cried Jules; "you fill me with remorse."
"Poor love! destiny is stronger than we, and I am not the accomplice
of mine. I shall go out to-morrow."
"At what hour?" asked Jules.
"At half-past nine."
"Clemence," he said, "take every precaution; consult Doctor Desplein
and old Haudry."
"I shall consult nothing but my heart and my courage."
"I shall leave you free; you will not see me till twelve o'clock."
"Won't you keep me company this evening? I feel so much better."
After attending to some business, Jules returned to his wife,
--recalled by her invincible attraction. His passion was stronger
than his anguish.
The next day, at nine o'clock Jules left home, hurried to the rue des
Enfants-Rouges, went upstairs, and rang the bell of the widow Gruget's
lodgings.
"Ah! you've kept your word, as true as the dawn. Come in, monsieur,"
said the old woman when she saw him. "I've made you a cup of coffee
with cream," she added, when the door was closed. "Oh! real cream; I
saw it milked myself at the dairy we have in this very street."
"Thank you, no, madame, nothing.
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