The attorney smiled. “Through the oddity of my client! ‘Draw up my will,’ said the marquis to me one day, ‘leaving all my property to this republican young dog. That will cut off the distant relatives who made the sign of the cross behind my back as though I were the evil one. They expect it all; he expects nothing! It will be a rare joke. I leave them my affection––and the privilege of having masses said for my soul.’ The marquis was always of a satirical temperament.”
“So it seems,” commented the manager. “But he changed his mind and his will again?”
“After he met Miss Carew.”
“Met me!” exclaimed Constance, aroused from a maze of reflection.
“Near the cathedral! He walked and talked with you.”
“That poor old man––”
“And then came here, acknowledged you as his daughter, and drew up the final document.”
“That accounts for a call I had from him!” cried Barnes, telling the story of the marquis’ visit. “Strange, I did not suspect something of the truth at the time,” he concluded, “for his manner was certainly unusual.”
A perplexed light shone in the girl’s eyes; she clasped and unclasped her hands quickly, turning to the lawyer.