Turning to the Admiral, the Countess said: “I am sorry, my dear Admiral, to thus burden you, but there is no one but you to whom we may turn in this dreadful dilemma.”
Thus summoned to take the leading part in the affair, the Admiral at once displayed that great faculty in grasping details and organising action, which had made him famous.
“Go home, young man,” he said to Adolphe, “and tell the nurse, Clarine I believe you called her, to prepare your master’s body for burial. I will come to the castle soon and tell you what to do next.”
After Adolphe had gone, the Admiral turned to the Countess and said: “It is our duty to go at once to the castle. That poor girl hasn’t a relative in the world. Nor the boy either. Not a soul to take charge of an effort for their liberation but ourselves. It is horrible. They shall be freed, and it devolves upon us to do it.”
“I agree with you, Admiral,” said the Countess, “but I do not think it safe for us to do so unless we are accompanied by a proper guard.”
“Have no fear,” said the Admiral; “fortunately, that is provided for. I am momentarily expecting the arrival of a detachment of sailors and marines from the ship, for whom I have sent to protect myself and daughter until we are safe again on board our vessel. When they arrive, we will see what strong hands and willing hearts can do in so worthy a cause. Let us make preparations to go at once.”
The Countess left the room to give an order to her male retainers to accompany them.
Both the Countess and Bertha were greatly interested in the terrible condition and probable fate of Vandemar and Vivienne. The Countess had known Manuel Della Coscia and remembered the pretty little boy who had now grown to man’s estate. Then, too, she had thought a great deal of Vivienne, but had not allowed her interest to go beyond a certain point. She knew that the girl was lovable, but she felt that if she betrayed her own affection, it might lead her to encourage the Count in his attentions to Mlle. Batistelli. In her heart she knew that her son would never make Vivienne a good husband, and she was too honest and sincere a woman to wish to secure her own happiness by making another unhappy.
Bertha’s feelings were prompted by the natural sympathy of youth for youth. This sympathy was intensified by the fact that her own love affair was in a similar condition. To be sure, she did not feel that her life was in danger, but she did not know but that Jack was already dead. Were not Vandemar and Vivienne happier than she? They were together and, if they could not be saved, they could die in each other’s arms. If Jack were dead and she thus left alone, what possible hope of future happiness could there be for her?
“My dear,” said the Countess, as she re-entered the room, “there is a messenger downstairs who wishes to see you on very important business.”