A hundred
and sixty votes were not recorded: those of Monsieur de Grancey's
following and the Legitimists.
The show of hands at an election, like a dress rehearsal at a theatre,
is the most deceptive thing in the world. Albert Savarus came home,
putting a brave face on the matter, but half dead. He had had the wit,
the genius, or the good luck to gain, within the last fortnight, two
staunch supporters--Girardet's father-in-law and a very shrewd old
merchant to whom Monsieur de Grancey had sent him. These two worthy
men, his self-appointed spies, affected to be Albert's most ardent
opponents in the hostile camp. Towards the end of the show of hands
they informed Savarus, through the medium of Monsieur Boucher, that
thirty voters, unknown, were working against him in his party, playing
the same trick that they were playing for his benefit on the other
side.
A criminal marching to execution could not suffer as Albert suffered
as he went home from the hall where his fate was at stake. The
despairing lover could endure no companionship. He walked through the
streets alone, between eleven o'clock and midnight. At one in the
morning, Albert, to whom sleep had been unknown for the past three
days, was sitting in his library in a deep armchair, his face as pale
as if he were dying, his hands hanging limp, in a forlorn attitude
worthy of the Magdalen. Tears hung on his long lashes, tears that dim
the eyes, but do not fall; fierce thought drinks them up, the fire of
the soul consumes them.
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