"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly.
"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then
dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur--pardon,
pardon."
"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously.
"Oh, M'sieur forgive me--I will tell you all!"
"Madame--Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself
with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening."
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St.
Jacques d'Acquin."
"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror.
"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she
said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche."
"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding
sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life
is."
"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest.
"But I loved him well, and he loved me--oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le
Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a
comtesse, M'sieur le Comte.
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