"Oh, it is simple enough, madame; it inspires me with the idea that M. Danglars has left with some suspicion."
"Certainly; but is this all you have to say to me?"
"I do not understand you," said Debray, with freezing coldness.
"He is gone! Gone, never to return!"
"Oh, madame! do not think that!"
"I tell you he will never return; I know his character, he is inflexible in any resolutions formed for his own interests. If he could have made any use of me, he would have taken me with him: he leaves me in Paris, as our separation will conduce to his benefit; therefore he has gone, and I am free for ever," added Madame Danglars, in the same supplicating tone.
Debray, instead of answering, allowed her to remain in an attitude of nervous inquiry.
"Well?" she said at length, "do you not answer me?"
"I have but one question to ask you,—what do you intend to do?"
"I was going to ask you," replied the baroness with a beating heart.
"Ah! then, you wish to ask advice of me?"
"Yes; I do wish to ask your advice," said Madame Danglars, with anxious expectation.
"Then, if you wish to take my advice," said the young man coldly, "I would recommend you to travel."
"To travel!" she murmured.
"Certainly; as M. Danglars says, you are rich, and perfectly free. In my opinion, a withdrawal from Paris is absolutely necessary after the double catastrophe of Mademoiselle Danglars' broken contract and M. Danglars' disappearance. It is requisite that the world should think you abandoned and poor; for the wife of a bankrupt would never be forgiven, were she to keep up the appearance of opulence. In the first case you have only to remain in Pans for about a fortnight, telling the world you are abandoned, and relating the details of this desertion to your best friends, who will soon spread the report. Then you can quit your house, leaving your jewels, and giving up your jointure, and every one's mouth will be filled with praises of your disinterestedness. They will know you are deserted, and think you also poor; for I alone know your real financial position, and am quite ready to give up my accounts as an honest partner."
The dread with which the baroness, pale and motionless, listened to this was equaled by the calm indifference with which Debray had spoken.
"Deserted!" she repeated; "ah, yes, I am, indeed, deserted! You are right, sir, and no one can doubt my position."
