Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The veil was now torn aside, and the truth revealed to her. Now she remembered Madame Leon’s embarrassment when she met her returning from the garden on the night following the count’s death. “Ah, well! Pascal,” she said, “do you know what I was doing at almost the same moment? Alarmed at having received no news from you, I hastened to the Rue d’Ulm, where I learned that you had sold your furniture and started for America. Any other woman might have believed herself deserted under such circumstances, but not I. I felt sure that you had not fled in ignominious fashion. I was convinced that you had only concealed yourself for a time in order to strike your enemies more surely.” “Do not shame me, Marguerite. It is true that of us two I showed myself the weaker.” Lost in the rapture of the present moment, they had forgotten the past and the future, the agony they had endured, the dangers that still threatened them, and even the existence of their enemies. But Madame Ferailleur was watching. She pointed to the clock, and earnestly exclaimed: “Time is passing, my son. Each moment that is wasted endangers our success. Should any suspicion bring Madame Vantrasson here, all would be lost.” “She cannot come upon us unawares, my dear mother. Chupin has promised not to lose sight of her. If she stirs from her shop, he will hasten here and throw a stone against the shutters to warn us.” But even this did not satisfy Madame Ferailleur. “You forget, Pascal.” she insisted, “that Mademoiselle Marguerite must be at home again by ten o’clock, if she consents to the ordeal you feel obliged to impose upon her.”