She handed him the blue paper which she had brought in, and said slowly,—
“Here. A telegram which I have just received from old Anthony, our son’s valet.”
With trembling hands the old marquis unfolded the paper, and read,—
“Terrible misfortune! Master Jacques accused of having set the chateau at Valpinson on fire, and murdered Count Claudieuse. Terrible evidence against him. When examined, hardly any defence. Just arrested and carried to jail. In despair. What must I do?”
The marchioness had feared lest the marquis should have been crushed by this despatch, which in its laconic terms betrayed Anthony’s abject terror. But it was not so. He put it back on the table in the calmest manner, and said, shrugging his shoulders,—
“It is absurd!”
His wife did not understand it. She began again,—
“You have not read it carefully, my friend”—
“I understand,” he broke in, “that our son is accused of a crime which he has not and can not have committed. You surely do not doubt his innocence? What a mother you would be! On my part, I assure you I am perfectly tranquil. Jacques an incendiary! Jacques a murderer! That is nonsense!”
“Ah! you did not read the telegram,” exclaimed the marchioness.