It isn't an easy matter,
and, of course, I thought it well over before I came here."
He spoke slowly in a drawling way, and after again making sure that the
other woman was too young to be the one he sought, he kept his pale eyes
steadily fixed on Norine. The growing anguish with which he saw her
quivering, the appeal that she was evidently making to her memory,
induced him to prolong things for another moment. Then he spoke out: "I
am the child who was put to nurse at Rougemont; my name is
Alexandre-Honore."
There was no need for him to say anything more. The unhappy Norine began
to tremble from head to foot, clasped and wrung her hands, while an ashen
hue came over her distorted features. Good heavens--Beauchene! Yes, it
was Beauchene whom he resembled, and in so striking a manner, with his
eyes of prey, his big jaw which proclaimed an enjoyer consumed by base
voracity, that she was now astonished that she had not been able to name
him at her first glance. Her legs failed her, and she had to sit down.
"So it's you," said Alexandre.
As she continued shivering, confessing the truth by her manner, but
unable to articulate a word, to such a point did despair and fright
clutch her at the throat, he felt the need of reassuring her a little,
particularly if he was to keep that door open to him.
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