I followed him to his closet; but, until he
reached it, had no inkling of what was in his thoughts. Then he
turned to me.
"Where is she?" he said sharply.
I stared at him a moment. "Pardon, said. "Do you think that it
was Madame de Conde?"
"Why not?"
"She is in Brussels."
"I tell you I saw her this morning!" he answered. "Go, learn
all you can! Find her! Find her! If she has returned, I will--
God knows what I will do!" he cried, in a voice shamefully
broken. "Go; and send Varennes to me. I shall sup alone: let no
one wait."
I would have remonstrated with him, but he was in no mood to bear
it; and, sad at heart, I withdrew, feeling the perplexity, which
the situation caused me, a less heavy burden than the pain with
which I viewed the change that had of late come over my master;
converting him from the gayest and most DEBONAIRE of men into
this morose and solitary dreamer. Here, had I felt any
temptation to moralise on the tyranny of passion, was the
occasion; but, as the farther I left the closet behind me the
more instant became the crisis, the present soon reasserted its
power.
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