Madame de Bois Arden listened attentively, sometimes thrilled with horror, and at others pleased with this tale of innocent love.
“Forgive me,” said she, when her cousin had concluded; “my reproaches and accusations were equally unfounded.”
“Yes, yes; never mind that; but I am afraid that there is some hidden mystery which will place a fresh stumbling-block in our friend Andre’s path.”
“Do not say that,” cried Andre, in terror. “What is it?”
“That I cannot tell; for Mademoiselle de Mussidan’s sake, I have withdrawn all my pretensions to her hand,—not to leave the field open to any other intruder, but in order that she may be your wife.”
“How are we to learn what has really happened?” asked the Viscountess.
“In some way or other we shall find out, if you will be our ally.”
Most women are pleased to busy themselves about a marriage, and the Viscountess was cheered to find herself mixed up in so romantic a drama.
“I am entirely at your beck and call,” answered she. “Have you any plan?”
“Not yet, but I will soon. As far as Mademoiselle de Mussidan is concerned, we must act quite openly. Andre will write to her, asking for an explanation, and you shall see her to-morrow, and if she is well enough, give her his note.”