“Come to my arms, Bertrand,” she said, with a dramatic gesture. “The last of the Ventadours can look every man in the face now.”
She was striving to hide her excitement, her obvious relief behind a theatrical and showy attitude. She went up to the little group around the invalid’s couch, and stood over them like a masterful, presiding deity. And all the while she flourished the letter which she held.
“A light, Bertrand, for mercy’s sake!” she went on impatiently. “Name of a name, all our lives are transformed by this letter! Did I not tell you all along that I would turn the tide of our misfortune into one of prosperity? Well! I’ve done it. I’ve done it more completely, more wonderfully than I ever dared to hope! And you all sit here like automatons whilst the entire current of our destiny has been diverted to golden channels!”
She talked rather wildly, somewhat incoherently; altogether she appeared different to her usual haughty, unimpassioned self. Bertrand rose obediently and lit the lamp, and placed a chair for old Madame beside the table.
She sat down and without another word to the others, she became absorbed in rereading the letter, the paper made a slight crackling sound while she read, as her hands were trembling a little. The Comtesse Marcelle, silent as usual, kept her eyes fixed on the stately figure of the family autocrat with the pathetic gaze of an unloved dog seeking to propitiate an irascible master. Micheline clung to her mother’s hand, silent and subdued by this atmosphere of unreality which grandmama’s theatrical gestures and speech had evoked. Bertrand alone appeared disinterested. He stood beside the hearth and stared moodily into the fire as if the whole affair, whatever it was, did not concern him.
Grandmama read the letter through twice from beginning to end. Then she folded it up carefully, laid it on the table, and clasped her hands over it.
“There is no mistake,” she said more quietly, “no ambiguity.”
She looked at them all as if expecting to be questioned. The news was so wonderful! She was bubbling over with it, and they sat there like automatons!
“Bertrand,” she half implored, half commanded.
“Yes, grandmama,” he responded dully.