“I have this morning received a letter from the lawyer in Utrecht, requesting me to pay him a visit as soon as possible, when he will give me all necessary information about General von Zwenken and his granddaughter Francis Mordaunt.”
“Mordaunt! Is her name Francis Mordaunt?” exclaimed Verheyst, in a tone of surprise and disappointment.
“Yes, don’t you like the name? or have you heard it before?” asked Leopold, all in a breath, for the serious looks of his friend alarmed him.
“Heard it before! Well, yes—indeed, often, as that of an English officer on half-pay who some years ago lived in my province; a man against whose character, so far as I know, nothing can be said.”
“Yes, but I am speaking about the daughter. Do you know her?”
“Not personally, and it is a dangerous thing to form an opinion from gossiping reports. What I have heard may not be correct; but if it be so, I cannot hide from you what it would only disturb your peace of mind to know. Therefore, I say, make your own inquiries, seek information from people you can trust, and trust only your own observations and experience.”
“Is she deformed? Is she a fright?” asked Leopold, growing uneasy.
“No, nothing of that sort; in fact, I believe she is rather good-looking—at least, enough so to attract admirers, but——”
“Come now, never falter, man! Give me the coup de grâce at once. Is she a coquette?”
Verheyst shrugged his shoulders. “I have never heard it said she was; at least, it must be a strange sort of coquetry she’s accused of.”