“Yes, here I am, my good woman, to listen to what you have to say.”
“I have many things to say. But first tell me some news of your brother.”
Louis regretted having come, supposing from this request that the old woman was childish, and might bother him for hours with her senseless gabble.
“You know well enough that my poor brother was drowned in the Rhone.”
“Good heavens!” cried Mihonne, “are you ignorant, then, of his escape? Yes, he did what has never been done before; he swam across the swollen Rhone. The next day Mlle. Valentine went to Clameran to tell the news; but St. Jean prevented her from seeing you. Afterward I carried a letter from her, but you had left the country.”
Louis could not believe this strange revelation.
“Are you not mixing up dreams with real events, my good woman?” he said banteringly.
“No,” she replied, mournfully shaking her head. “If Pere Menoul were alive, he would tell you how he took charge of your brother until he embarked for Marseilles. But that is nothing compared to the rest. M. Gaston has a son.”
“My brother had a son! You certainly have lost your mind, my poor woman.”
“Alas, no. Unfortunately for my happiness in this world and in the world to come, I am only telling the truth; he had a child, and Mlle. Valentine was its mother. I took the poor babe, and carried it to a woman whom I paid to take charge of it.”