"Well," said Charles, who had not taken his eyes from his mother, "what is there in the box to startle you, madame?"
"Nothing," said Catharine.
"Then put in your hand, madame, and take out a book that is there; there is one, is there not?" added Charles, with a pale smile, more terrible in him than a threat in another.
"Yes," faltered Catharine.
"A book on hunting?"
"Yes."
"Take it out and bring it to me."
In spite of her assurance Catharine turned pale, and trembled in every limb, as she extended her hand towards the box.
"Fatality!" she murmured, raising the book.
"Very good," said Charles, "now listen; this book on hunting—I loved the chase madly, above everything else—I read this book too eagerly, do you understand, madame?"