Bertha Renville was seated alone in the beautiful boudoir of Countess Mont d’Oro. She had just received a long and interesting letter from Mrs. Clarence Glynne, the concluding paragraph of which read:
“My husband has almost entirely recovered from his severe illness. Mr. Jack De Vinne wrote us a short note, merely to say that he would start for Corsica immediately and we have not heard from him since. He informed us that he had called at Countess Mont d’Oro’s residence in Paris, but learned that you and the Countess had left for some place unknown. As for Mr. Glynne, your guardian, he left here at the time Clarence was taken ill to search for you and bring you back. Clarence thinks he went to Paris and finding you had accompanied the Countess Mont d’Oro to Corsica, that his father will undoubtedly continue his quest to that place. He says his father is a very determined man, is very angry at your disappearance, and will certainly follow you if he can learn where you have gone.
“Yours very devotedly,
“Jennie Glynne.
“P. S.—I think Mr. De Vinne knows where you are, but thought it best for us not to know.”
Count Napier Mont d’Oro’s experience had not been very pleasant before his meeting with Lieutenant Duquesne. Learning from one of the servants that his mother had gone to pay a visit to a tenant who was ill, he made his way at once to her boudoir. Upon entering he found Bertha seated, gazing abstractedly at the letter which she had just finished reading.
“Ah! My good mother is not here. I wished to speak to her. I suppose she will return soon. Pardon me, if I wait,” and he sank into a chair. “This is a beautiful morning, is it not, mademoiselle? And how do you like Corsica?”
“I have seen very little of it,” was the reply. “I have not been out of the house since my arrival, except to take a walk in the grounds.”
“Ah! That is a shame!” cried the Count, sympathetically. “Will you not go driving with me this morning? Our scenery is beautiful because it is so natural. The hand of art has not tampered with it as it has in France.”
“You are very kind, Count Mont d’Oro,” Bertha replied, “but your mother said she would order the carriage this afternoon.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Count. “I know she is afraid of a spirited horse, and old Pierre will drive you, with a pair of horses almost as old as he is. I have a high-stepper in the stables, a spirited beast that curvets, prances, and amuses you with his antics.”