. Monsieur Lecoq & The honor of the name . ng by a serpent, started up with suchviolence that he overturned his chair. Not another word!cried he in a terrible voice. I forbid you to speak! But heno doubt soon felt ashamed of his violence, for he quietly raisedhis chair, and resumed in a tone which he strove to render lightand rallying: Who will hereafter refuse to believe in presenti-ments? A couple of hours ago, on seeing your pale face at therailway station, I felt that you had learned more or less of thisaffair. I was sure of it. There was a long silence. Withone accord, father and son avoi
. Monsieur Lecoq & The honor of the name . ng by a serpent, started up with suchviolence that he overturned his chair. Not another word!cried he in a terrible voice. I forbid you to speak! But heno doubt soon felt ashamed of his violence, for he quietly raisedhis chair, and resumed in a tone which he strove to render lightand rallying: Who will hereafter refuse to believe in presenti-ments? A couple of hours ago, on seeing your pale face at therailway station, I felt that you had learned more or less of thisaffair. I was sure of it. There was a long silence. Withone accord, father and son avoided letting their eyes meet, lestthey might encounter glances too eloquent to bear at so pain-ful a moment. You were right, sir, continued the comte,our honor is involved. It is important that we should decideon our future conduct without delay. Will you follow me tomy room? He rang the bell, and a footman appeared almostimmediately. Neither the vicomte nor I am at home to anyone, said M. de Commarin, no matter whom. THE LEROLGE AEEAIR 63. HPI1E revelation which had just taken place irritated much•*? more than it surprised the Comte de Commarin. Fortwenty years he had been constantly expecting to sec the truthbrought to light. He knew that there can he no secret so care-fully guarded that it may not by some chance escape ; and hishad been known to four people, three of whom were still liv-ing. He had not forgotten that he had been imprudent enoughto trust it to paper, knowing all the while that it ought neverto have been written. How was it that he, a prudent diplomat,a statesman, full of precaution, had been so foolish? How wasit that he had allowed this fatal correspondence to remain inexistence! Why had he not destroyed, at no matter what cost,these overwhelming proofs, which sooner or later might beused against him? Such imprudence could only have arisenfrom an absurd passion, blind and insensible, even to long as he was Valeries lover, the comte never thought
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