But someone touched him on the shoulder.
He lifted his eyes; it was M. Venot. He was surprised to find him
praying before that closed door. Then as though God Himself had
responded to his appeal, the count flung his arms round the little old
gentleman's neck. At last he could weep, and he burst out sobbing and
repeated:
"My brother, my brother."
All his suffering humanity found comfort in that cry. He drenched
M. Venot's face with tears; he kissed him, uttering fragmentary
ejaculations.
"Oh, my brother, how I am suffering! You only are left me, my brother.
Take me away forever--oh, for mercy's sake, take me away!"
Then M. Venot pressed him to his bosom and called him "brother" also.
But he had a fresh blow in store for him. Since yesterday he had been
searching for him in order to inform him that the Countess Sabine, in
a supreme fit of moral aberration, had but now taken flight with the
manager of one of the departments in a large, fancy emporium. It was a
fearful scandal, and all Paris was already talking about it. Seeing
him under the influence of such religious exaltation, Venot felt the
opportunity to be favorable and at once told him of the meanly tragic
shipwreck of his house.
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