Sarraille, moreover, defended himself; he
swore that he had known nothing of the truth, that the deceased had
simply come to him for legitimate treatment, and that both she and the
Baroness had deceived him. Then Seraphine on her side took hold of
Morange's hands, protesting her devotion, her frightful grief, her fear,
too, lest the reputation of the poor dear girl should be dragged through
the mire, if he (the father) did not keep the terrible secret. She
accepted her share of responsibility and blame, admitted that she had
been very culpable, and spoke of eternal remorse. But might the terrible
truth be buried in the dead girl's grave, might there be none but pure
flowers strewn upon that grave, might she who lay therein be regretted by
all who had known her, as one snatched away in all innocence of youth and
beauty!
And Morange yielded to his weakness of heart, stifling the while with
sobs, and scarce repeating that word "Murderers!" which had sprung from
his lips so impulsively a little while before. He thought, too, of the
scandal, an autopsy, a court of law, the newspapers recounting the crime,
his daughter's memory covered with mire, and--No! no! he could have none
of that.
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