Yet her fear was not on her own account. She could have kissed her
father's hand and submitted humbly to death itself, if he chose to
inflict it; but she trembled most at the thought of a meeting
between the fiery Baron and the haughty Intendant. One or the
other, or both of them, she felt instinctively, must die, should the
Baron discover that Bigot had been the cause of the ruin of his
idolized child. She trembled for both, and prayed God that she
might die in their stead and the secret of her shame never be known
to her fond father.
A dull sound, like footsteps shuffling in the dark passage behind
the arras, struck her ear; she knew her strange visitant was come.
She started up, clasping her hands hard together as she listened,
wondering who and what like she might be. She suspected no harm,--
for who could desire to harm her who had never injured a living
being? Yet there she stood on the one side of that black door of
doom, while the calamity of her life stood on the other side like a
tigress ready to spring through.
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