“I cannot tell you all now, Clarence, all the terrible things that occurred in Corsica while we were there. The vendetta is the national pastime. We all got mixed up in it, and fortunate are we that we escaped with our lives; many did not. But Bertha and I, and Victor and his lady-love, a beautiful young Corsican girl named Vivienne Batistelli, and our mutual friend, Countess Mont d’Oro, are all safe now in Paris. I have written all this, Clarence, in the vain hope that I should find some way of breaking sad news to you in such a manner as not to give you too sudden a shock.”
Clarence dropped his knife and fork and looked intently at his wife. “I told you so, Jennie. I knew he was holding something back. But read on; it cannot be any worse than I think it is. I imagined while you were reading that something had happened, for how could Jack know about Bertha’s fortune?”
“You are right,” said his wife, who had been reading ahead while he had been talking; “you are right, Clarence, your father is gone. Jack says he was made captive by one party of bandits while your father was a captive with another band. Your father escaped with the evident intention of following Jack, but when challenged by the guard he did not answer quickly enough and was shot down. Jack saw that he was buried, and took possession of the papers upon him. He says that one of those papers was the will of Oscar Renville, and he took the liberty of giving it to Bertha, who read it. Those are not his own words,” said Jennie. “I will read it just as it is here, if you wish, Clarence.”
“Is there any more?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, another page.”
“Bertha wishes me to say to you that if your father, in the performance of his duty as guardian, has invested a part of her fortune in the business of Walmonth & Company, she has no desire to withdraw it at present. She is willing to make an arrangement by which a suitable interest may be paid her upon the amount. If it has all been invested in the business, a share in the profits, she thinks, would be more equitable. But all can be arranged when we arrive in England. Trusting that you and your wife are enjoying good health, and with kind regards from Bertha and myself, I am,
“Sincerely yours,
“John De Vinne.”
“I cannot give you a royal wedding,” said the Countess Mont d’Oro, “but I am willing and able to make it a princely one.”
Both the young ladies protested against such extravagance.
“I have no one else to squander my money upon,” said the Countess. “Just think of it, you, Bertha, are going to be a countess, and probably Vivienne will one day hear her future husband addressed as Admiral.”