Claire raised her eyes to the count’s in surprise.

“He is my son,” replied M. de Commarin, evidently embarrassed, “my other son, Albert’s brother.  The best and worthiest of men,” he added, repeating quite appropriately a phrase already uttered by M. Daburon.  “He is a advocate; he knows all about the Palais; he will tell us what to do.”

Noel’s name, thus thrown into the midst of this conversation so full of hope, oppressed Claire’s heart.

The count perceived her affright.

“Do not feel anxious, dear child,” he said.  “Noel is good; and I will tell you more, he loves Albert.  Do not shake your head so; Noel told me himself, on this very spot, that he did not believe Albert guilty.  He declared that he intended doing everything to dispel the fatal mistake, and that he would be his advocate.”

These assertions did not seem to reassure the young girl.  She thought to herself, “What then has this Noel done for Albert?” But she made no remark.

“I will send for him,” continued M. de Commarin; “he is now with Albert’s mother, who brought him up, and who is now on her deathbed.”

“Albert’s mother!”

“Yes, my child.  Albert will explain to you what may perhaps seem to you an enigma.  Now time presses.  But I think—­”

He stopped suddenly.  He thought, that, instead of sending for Noel at Madame Gerdy’s, he might go there himself.  He would thus see Valerie! and he had longed to see her again so much!

It was one of those actions which the heart urges, but which one does not dare risk, because a thousand subtle reasons and interests are against it.

One wishes, desires, and even longs for it; and yet one struggles, combats, and resists.  But, if an opportunity occurs, one is only too happy to seize it; then one has an excuse with which to silence one’s conscience.

In thus yielding to the impulse of one’s feelings, one can say:  “It was not I who willed it, it was fate.”

“It will be quicker, perhaps,” observed the count, “to go to Noel.”

“Let us start then, sir.”

“I hardly know though, my child,” said the old gentleman, hesitating, “whether I may, whether I ought to take you with me.  Propriety—­”

“Ah, sir, propriety has nothing to do with it!” replied Claire impetuously.  “With you, and for his sake, I can go anywhere.  Is it not indispensable that I should give some explanations?  Only send word to my grandmother by Schmidt, who will come back here and await my return.  I am ready, sir.”

“Very well, then,” said the count.

Then, ringing the bell violently, he called to the servant, “My carriage.”

In descending the steps, he insisted upon Claire’s taking his arm.  The gallant and elegant politeness of the friend of the Count d’Artois reappeared.

“You have taken twenty years from my age,” he said; “it is but right that I should devote to you the youth you have restored to me.”