Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing her, save prayers and tears; these availed her little.

Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoul begged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he would hurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran: 

“You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer.  I will blow any man’s brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if you choose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserable women, whom I am really fond of, I am not going to do it.  You ask for more than I can do.  I am not quite the cowardly hound you take me for.”

Clameran paid no attention to these remonstrances:  indeed, he was prepared for them.

“It is not pleasant, I know,” he replied; “but necessity knows no law.  Have a little more perseverance and patience; we have almost got to the end.”

The end was nearer than Clameran supposed.  Toward the latter part of November, Mme. Fauvel saw that it was impossible to postpone the catastrophe any longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to the marquis for assistance.

She had not seen him since his return from Oloron, except once, when he came to announce his accession to wealth.  At that time, persuaded that he was the evil genius of Raoul, she had received him very coldly, and did not invite him to repeat his visit.

She hesitated about speaking to her niece of the step she intended taking, because she feared violent opposition.

To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it.

Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious.  Reflecting on past events, comparing and weighing every act and speech of Raoul, she was now convinced that he was Clameran’s tool.

She thought that Raoul was too shrewd to be acting in this shameful way, ruinously to his own interests, if there were not some secret motive at the bottom of it all.  She saw that this persecution was more feigned than real.

So thoroughly was she convinced of this, that, had it only concerned herself alone, she would have firmly resisted the oppression, certain that the threatened exposure would never take place.

Recalling, with a shudder, certain looks of Clameran, she guessed the truth, that the object of all this underhand work was to force her to become his wife.

Determined on making the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance toward the man, she wished to have the deed done at once; anything was preferable to this terrible anxiety, to the life of torture which Raoul made her lead.  She felt that her courage might fail if she waited and suffered much longer.

“The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, aunt,” she said, after talking the project over.

The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing her intended visit.