“Now for the confession,” reflected the young man, drawing a chair near the dying man.
“I have a story to tell, and little breath with which to speak,” said M. de Cadanet. “In that bottle is brandy; give me a spoonful.”
Charles obeyed. He was silent, because he did not know what to say.
“And here are my keys. Unlock the box.”
His hand trembling with anxiety, the young man did as he was told. A small packet of letters lay at the bottom, confirming his suspicions. But when he would have lifted it out, M. de Cadanet stopped him.
“Not yet. First hear my story. These letters relate to Monsieur Léon de Beaudrillart.”
“I was a fool. I might have seen that they were not so old,” thought the other.
Relief and curiosity began to struggle with him.
“You have not met him for some years.”
“No. It has surprised me. Is it six years?”