What was the meaning of the poor
fool's diabolical rebellion, the dim threat which she had felt passing
like a gust from an abyss? She turned frightfully pale, she intuitively
foresaw some frightful revenge of destiny, that destiny which, only a
moment previously, she had believed to be her minion. Yes, it was surely
that. And she felt herself carried fourteen years backward, and she
remained standing, quivering, icy cold, listening to the sounds which
arose from the works, waiting for the awful thud of the fall, even as on
the distant day when she had listened and waited for the other to be
crushed and killed.
Meantime Morange, with his discreet, short step, was leading Alexandre
away, and speaking to him in a quiet, good-natured voice.
"I must ask your pardon for going first, but I have to show you the way.
Oh! this is a very intricate place, with stairs and passages whose turns
and twists never end. The passage now turns to the left, you see."
Then, on reaching the gallery where the darkness was complete, he
affected anger in the most natural manner possible.
"Ah! well, that is just their way. They haven't yet lighted up this part.
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