“And would have inherited this property but for Constance?”
“Exactly! But you knew him, Mr. Barnes?”
“He was an occupant of the chariot, sir,” replied the manager, with some feeling. “We met in the Shadengo Valley; the company was in sore straits, and––and––to make a long story short!––he joined our band and traversed the continent with us. And so he was the marquis’ ward! It seems almost incredible!”
“Yes,” affirmed Culver; “when General Saint-Prosper, his father, died, Ernest Saint-Prosper, who was then but a boy, became the marquis’ ward and a member of his household.”
“Well, well, how things do come about!” ruminated Barnes. “To think he should have been the prospective heir, and Constance, the real one!”
“Where is he now?” asked the attorney, thoughtfully.
“He has gone to Mexico; enlisted! But how do you know he––”
“Had expectations? The marquis told me about a quarrel they had had; he was a staunch imperialist; the young man as firm a republican! What would be the natural outcome? They parted in bitter anger.”
“And then the marquis made him his heir?” exclaimed the manager, incredulously. “How do you reconcile that?”