Most of those who cared for the honor of the family denied the fact.
At nightfall Chesnel went to Mme. Camusot and escorted the stranger to
the Hotel d'Esgrignon. Poor Mlle. Armande was expecting him; she led
the fair Duchess to her own room, which she had given up to her, for
his lordship the Bishop occupied Victurnien's chamber; and, left alone
with her guest, the noble woman glanced at the Duchess with most
piteous eyes.
"You owed help, indeed, madame, to the poor boy who ruined himself for
your sake," she said, "the boy to whom we are all of us sacrificing
ourselves."
The Duchess had already made a woman's survey of Mlle. d'Esgrignon's
room; the cold, bare, comfortless chamber, that might have been a
nun's cell, was like a picture of the life of the heroic woman before
her. The Duchess saw it all--past, present, and future--with rising
emotion, felt the incongruity of her presence, and could not keep back
the falling tears that made answer for her.
But in Mlle. Armande the Christian overcame Victurnien's aunt. "Ah, I
was wrong; forgive me, Mme. la Duchesse; you did not know how poor we
were, and my nephew was incapable of the admission. And besides, now
that I see you, I can understand all--even the crime!"
And Mlle. Armande, withered and thin and white, but beautiful as those
tall austere slender figures which German art alone can paint, had
tears too in her eyes.
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