The old man shook his head.
“What has been done?”
“I have got hold of a young fellow who believes that I wish to send him to Egypt, to purchase cotton. He will start to-morrow, and will post the two letters written by the Marquis de Croisenois, one at Marseilles, and the other at Cairo.”
“Do you not think that these letters will insure my perfect security?”
“I see that any indiscretion on our agent’s part, or a mere act of carelessness, may ruin us.”
“And yet it must be done.”
After consulting together, the doctors had given some slight hope, but the position of the patient was still very precarious. It was suggested that her intellect might be permanently affected; and during all these long and anxious hours Norbert did not even dare to close his eyes, and it was with feelings of secret terror that he permitted the maids to perform their duties around their invalid mistress.
Upon the fourth day the fever took a favorable turn, and Marie slept, giving Norbert time to review his position.
How was it that Madame de Mussidan, who was a daily visitor, had not appeared at the house since that eventful night? He was so much surprised at this that he ventured to dispatch a short note, acquainting her of the sudden illness of his wife.
In an hour he received a reply, merely containing these words:—