“Nevertheless, neither she nor any one must ever hear what I am telling you.”
“Rest assured they will not. You know me, I think, my dear uncle, and that I am not a tattler. But I am deeply interested. You had, if I understood rightly, enclosed that sum of money most generously intended for me, and Monsieur de Beaudrillart was aware of it? What followed?”
“A quarrel.”
“Did he attempt to wrest it from you?”
“I believe he thought of it, but gave up his idea for another.”
“Ah, now I have it!” cried Lemaire, triumphantly. “He forged your name.”
M. de Cadanet flung him a glance of contempt. “Apparently, monsieur, you are very little acquainted with the De Beaudrillarts.”
The young man saw his mistake, and caught it back.
“Of course not, of course not! I spoke without thought, and forgetting the family. Pray excuse me, and tell me what really happened.”
“We quarrelled, as I said, and I told him never to return. He never has come back. But on his way along the street he was overtaken by André, who, as you know, is an honest dolt, and who was taking my letters to the post Baron Léon, it appears, asked to look at them, and in that moment contrived to substitute a letter of his own for the one which contained the money. You follow me?”