announce him, he advanced to her bedchamber, and distressed by what he saw and guessed, stopped for one moment at the door.
As if the same idea had animated these two beings, Mercédès was doing the same in her apartments that he had just done in his. Everything was in order—laces, dresses, jewels, linen, money, all were arranged in the drawers, and the countess was carefully collecting the keys. Albert saw all these preparations and understood them, and exclaiming, “My mother!” he threw his arms around her neck.
The artist who could have depicted the expression of these two countenances would certainly have made of them a beautiful picture. All these proofs of an energetic resolution, which Albert did not fear on his own account, alarmed him for his mother. “What are you doing?” asked he.