From the tone in which this was said, Lafcadio guessed that the old Count was dead. He mastered his emotion.
“Courage!” said he to himself as he returned homewards. “The moment has come. It is time to launch the ship.[C] From whatever quarter the wind blows now it will be the right one. Since I cannot live really near the old man, I might as well prepare to leave him altogether.”
As he passed by the hotel porter’s lodge, he gave him the small box which he had been carrying about with him ever since the day before.
“Please give this parcel to Mlle. Venitequa when she comes in this evening, and kindly prepare my bill.”
An hour later his box was packed and he sent for a cab. He went off without leaving an address. His solicitor’s was enough.
BOOK III: AMÉDÉE FLEURISSOIRE
I
The Countess Guy de Saint-Prix, Julius’s younger sister, who had been suddenly summoned to Paris by Count Juste-Agénor’s death, had not long since returned to Pezac (an elegant country residence, four miles out of Pau, which she had scarcely ever left since her widowhood, and to which she had become more than ever attached now that her children were all married and settled), when she received a singular visit.
She had just come in from her drive (she was in the habit of going out every morning in a light dog-cart which she drove herself), when she was informed that there was a priest in the drawing-room who had been waiting for over an hour to see her. The stranger came with an introduction from Cardinal André, as was shown by the card which was handed to the Countess; the card was in an envelope; under the Cardinal’s name, in his fine and almost feminine handwriting, were written the following words:
“Recommends Father J. P. Salus, canon of Virmontal, to the Countess de Saint-Prix’s very particular attention.”