The attention of Camors was redoubled from this moment--the more so from a rapid and significant glance from the Marquise, which seemed to warn him of an approaching event. She was sitting a little in shadow in one corner, in order to meditate more at ease on questions and answers. An instant later Camors was passing around the room collecting notes. She deposited one in the basket, slipping another into his hand with the cat-like dexterity of her sex. In the midst of these papers, which each person amused himself with reading, Camors found no difficulty in retaining without remark the clandestine note of the Marquise. It was written in red ink, a little pale, but very legible, and contained these words:
“I belong, soul, body, honor, riches, to my best-beloved cousin, Louis de Camors, from this moment and forever.
“Written and signed with the pure blood of my veins, March 5, 185-.
All the blood of Camors surged to his brain--a cloud came over his eyes--he rested his hand on the marble table, then suddenly his face was covered with a mortal paleness. These symptoms did not arise from remorse or fear; his passion overshadowed all. He felt a boundless joy. He saw the world at his feet.
It was by this act of frankness and of extraordinary audacity, seasoned by the bloody mysticism so familiar to the sixteenth century, which she adored, that the Marquise de Campvallon surrendered herself to her lover and sealed their fatal union.
Nearly six weeks had passed after this last episode. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and the Marquise awaited Camors, who was to come after the session of the Corps Legislatif. There was a sudden knock at one of the doors of her room, which communicated with her husband’s apartment. It was the General. She remarked with surprise, and even with fear, that his countenance was agitated.
“What is the matter with you, my dear?” she said. “Are you ill?”
He placed himself before her, and looked at her some moments before speaking, his eyes rolling wildly.
“Charlotte!” he said at last, with a painful smile, “I must own to you my folly. I am almost mad since morning--I have received such a singular letter. Would you like to see it?”
He took a letter from his pocket, and gave it to her. The writing was evidently carefully disguised, and it was not signed.