And, without noticing the dissatisfaction expressed in her grandfather’s features, she added, turning to M. Folgat,—
“After all, sir, you see that your wishes have been fulfilled. We shall be able to communicate with M. de Boiscoran: he will give us his instructions.”
“Perhaps so, madam.”
“How? Perhaps? You said yourself”—
“I told you, madam, it would be useless, perhaps even imprudent, to take any steps before we know the truth. But will we know it? Do you think that M. de Boiscoran, who has good reasons for being suspicious of every thing, will at once tell us all in a letter which must needs pass through several hands before it can reach us?”
“He will tell us all, sir, without reserve, without fear, and without danger.”
“Oh!”
“I have taken my precautions. You will see.”
“Then we have only to wait.”
Alas, yes! They had to wait, and that was what distressed Dionysia. She hardly slept that night. The next day was one unbroken torment. At each ringing of the bell, she trembled, and ran to see.