"Monseigneur," he replied, "I am the servant of the Marquis Philip de Chamondrin, who once had the honor to belong to your household."
"Chamondrin! I remember him perfectly; a brave young man for whom my poor Lamballe obtained a commission as captain of dragoons. I had news of him quite recently."
"News of him!" exclaimed Coursegol, joyfully. "Ah! Monseigneur, where is he? How is he?"
"Are you anxious to know?" inquired the duke.
"Your highness shall judge."
And Coursegol briefly recounted the events that had separated him from Philip, and told the duke how Dolores and himself had come to Paris in the hope of finding him. His recital must have been both eloquent and pathetic, for when it was concluded tears stood in the eyes of the listeners.
"Ah! What anxiety the young girl must have suffered!" exclaimed the prince; "but I can reassure her. Yes; I recently received a letter from the Marquis de Chamondrin. It shall be given to you and you shall carry it to his sister. She will be indebted to me for a few hours of happiness. My dear Miromesnil," added the duke, addressing an old man who was standing near, "will you look in my correspondence of the month of October for a letter bearing the signature of Chamondrin? When you find it, give it to this worthy man."
Coursegol began to stammer out his thanks, but, without heeding them, the duke came still nearer and said, in a low voice:
"Does Mademoiselle de Chamondrin require aid of any sort?"
"No, monseigneur," replied Coursegol.