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- Гастон Леру
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Overcome
as
he
was
with
despair
,
Raoul
would
probably
have
refused
any
invitation
that
evening
,
if
the
count
had
not
,
as
an
inducement
,
told
him
that
the
lady
of
his
thoughts
had
been
seen
,
the
night
before
,
in
company
of
the
other
sex
in
the
Bois
.
At
first
,
the
viscount
refused
to
believe
;
but
he
received
such
exact
details
that
he
ceased
protesting
.
She
had
been
seen
,
it
appeared
,
driving
in
a
brougham
,
with
the
window
down
.
She
seemed
to
be
slowly
taking
in
the
icy
night
air
.
There
was
a
glorious
moon
shining
.
She
was
recognized
beyond
a
doubt
.
As
for
her
companion
,
only
his
shadowy
outline
was
distinguished
leaning
back
in
the
dark
.
The
carriage
was
going
at
a
walking
pace
in
a
lonely
drive
behind
the
grand
stand
at
Longchamp
.
Raoul
dressed
in
frantic
haste
,
prepared
to
forget
his
distress
by
flinging
himself
,
as
people
say
,
into
"
the
vortex
of
pleasure
.
"
Alas
,
he
was
a
very
sorry
guest
and
,
leaving
his
brother
early
,
found
himself
,
by
ten
o
’
clock
in
the
evening
,
in
a
cab
,
behind
the
Longchamp
race
-
course
.
It
was
bitterly
cold
.
The
road
seemed
deserted
and
very
bright
under
the
moonlight
.
He
told
the
driver
to
wait
for
him
patiently
at
the
corner
of
a
near
turning
and
,
hiding
himself
as
well
as
he
could
,
stood
stamping
his
feet
to
keep
warm
.
He
had
been
indulging
in
this
healthy
exercise
for
half
an
hour
or
so
,
when
a
carriage
turned
the
corner
of
the
road
and
came
quietly
in
his
direction
,
at
a
walking
pace
.
As
it
approached
,
he
saw
that
a
woman
was
leaning
her
head
from
the
window
.
And
,
suddenly
,
the
moon
shed
a
pale
gleam
over
her
features
.
"
Christine
!
"
The
sacred
name
of
his
love
had
sprung
from
his
heart
and
his
lips
.
He
could
not
keep
it
back
.
.
.
He
would
have
given
anything
to
withdraw
it
,
for
that
name
,
proclaimed
in
the
stillness
of
the
night
,
had
acted
as
though
it
were
the
preconcerted
signal
for
a
furious
rush
on
the
part
of
the
whole
turn
-
out
,
which
dashed
past
him
before
he
could
put
into
execution
his
plan
of
leaping
at
the
horses
’
heads
.
The
carriage
window
had
been
closed
and
the
girl
’
s
face
had
disappeared
.
And
the
brougham
,
behind
which
he
was
now
running
,
was
no
more
than
a
black
spot
on
the
white
road
.
He
called
out
again
:
"
Christine
!
"
No
reply
.
And
he
stopped
in
the
midst
of
the
silence
.
With
a
lack
-
luster
eye
,
he
stared
down
that
cold
,
desolate
road
and
into
the
pale
,
dead
night
.
Nothing
was
colder
than
his
heart
,
nothing
half
so
dead
:
he
had
loved
an
angel
and
now
he
despised
a
woman
!
Raoul
,
how
that
little
fairy
of
the
North
has
trifled
with
you
!
Was
it
really
,
was
it
really
necessary
to
have
so
fresh
and
young
a
face
,
a
forehead
so
shy
and
always
ready
to
cover
itself
with
the
pink
blush
of
modesty
in
order
to
pass
in
the
lonely
night
,
in
a
carriage
and
pair
,
accompanied
by
a
mysterious
lover
?
Surely
there
should
be
some
limit
to
hypocrisy
and
lying
!
.
.
.
