Alone in an attic, shut up with a table which bore an old-fashioned three-wicked oil lamp, he drew out the bloodstained papers, the last relics of his brother. He sighed, raised his head and opened one letter.
It was from poor Catherine Billet. Charny had suspected the connection some months before Billet had at Varennes given him confirmation of it. Only then had he given it the importance it should have taken in his mind.
Now he learnt that the title of mistress had become holy by its promotion to that of mother, and in the simple language Catherine used, all her woman's life was given in expiation of her fault as a girl. A second and a third, showed the same plans of love, maternal joys, fears of the loving, pains and repentance.
Suddenly, among the letters, he saw one whose writing struck him. To this was attached a note of Isidore's, sealed with his arms in black wax. It was the letter which Andrea had enjoined him to give her husband in case he were mortally hurt or read to him if unable. The note explained this and concluded:
"I league to my brother the Count of Charny poor Catherine Billet, now living with my boy in the village of Villedovray."
This note had totally absorbed him: but finally he turned his attention to that from his wife. But after reading the explanation three times, he shook his head and said in an undertone:
"I have no right to open this letter; but I will so entreat her that she will let me read it."
Dawn surprised him, devouring with his gaze this letter damp with frequent pressing it with his lips.
Suddenly in the midst of the bustle for the departure, he heard his name called and he hurried out on the stairs.
Here he met Barnave inquiring for the Queen and charging Valory to get the order for the start. It was easy to see that Barnave had had no more sleep than the count. They bowed to each other, and Charny would surely have remarked the jealous gleam in the member's eye if he had been able to think of anything but the letter of his wife which he pressed to his heart under his arm.