“From your presence here, monsieur, I gather that you have heard from Madame Léon of the—the extraordinary attack which has been made upon my son.”
Even at this moment M. Bourget was impressed by the haughty coolness of her bearing. Not a movement, not a look, showed fear. He said, briefly:
“She wrote to me this morning.”
“Ah, so I imagined. It was natural, though I could have wished the affair had not been mentioned out of our own family.”
M. Bourget’s square figure seemed to gain unusual dignity. He said, respectfully:
“Pardon, madame. You forget that although I have no desire to force the fact upon you, we both belong to the same family. What concerns the husband of my daughter, concerns me. But it appears to me there are more important matters to discuss. I am not sure that I know all the facts. Would it displease you if I repeated what seems clear!”
She motioned him to a seat, and sat down herself abruptly.
“What I make out, then,” said M. Bourget, leaning forward, and fixing his eyes on his own broad hands, “is that some Monsieur Lemaire, of whom I know nothing—” he paused, questioningly, but as she remained silent, went on—“the principal inheritor of the wealth of the defunct count, Monsieur de Cadanet, brings an accusation against Baron Léon of having opened a letter intended for him, Lemaire, by Monsieur de Cadanet, and of having extracted the sum of two hundred thousand francs. That is all I know, madame, and, on the face of it, it appears a most egregious accusation.”
Her lips formed the word, “Disgraceful.”
“But you can, perhaps, madame, give me further information. On what ground does he base his charge? Were there any money dealings between this Lemaire and Monsieur Léon?”