She fetched him pencil and paper, and together they concocted a letter to his elderly kinsmen, she holding the paper. At the end she fed him again, for the conversation and the effort of writing had exhausted him rather alarmingly. It was no more than was to be expected. But at that price Valentine had the main threads of the affair in her hands now.
(2)
In the early afternoon arrived, as she had been desired, the faithful Tessier, with a basket containing medicaments and comforts.
“I knew the place would not suit you, Madame,” she said, almost as soon as she set foot inside the little parlour. “Ah, I see that you are indeed indisposed!” For Mme de Trélan, to give colour to her statement to Toinon, had wrapped herself in a shawl.
“Suzon, I was never better in my life,” said she, and looked it. “But there is someone ill here. That was really why I sent for you.”
“Someone—in there?” ejaculated Mme Tessier, pointing to the bedroom door.
“Yes, a young man, suffering from a gunshot wound in the side,” responded the Duchesse calmly. “You can give me help and advice.”
For the moment Suzon looked little capable of either. Her eyes turned wildly from Mme de Trélan to the bedroom door.
“But—did he fall from heaven, or through the chimney?” she managed to get out.
“Neither. I found him in the garden at three o’clock this morning. He was shot by the guard last night.”