"I know all that, Adamas, I know it by heart; and, nevertheless, when I went to Italy in 1611, to make personal inquiries for that poor brother of mine, from whom I had never heard again, I was told that he had never returned from a mission to Rome, on which he had set out fifteen months before. And, when I went to Rome, he had not been seen there for more than two years. I travelled all over Italy until late in 1612, without finding any trace of him, so that I finally concluded that he must have undertaken some long voyage, to the East or West Indies, on his own account, and that I should see him again some day; but at last I made up my mind that he had certainly been murdered by the brigands who infest Italy, or had perished in a storm at sea. He had not acquired great wealth in the Savoyard's service, although he never complained; and I think that he seldom had companions in his journeys. In the end I lost all hope of finding him, but not of learning his fate and avenging him if he was slain by treachery."
While the marquis and Adamas were talking thus, Mario, whose presence they had forgotten, had glided behind the marquis's chair.
He listened, and he looked closely at the letter Bois-Doré held in his hands. He could read very well, as we have said, even manuscript; but he was in dire perplexity, fearing lest he should make a mistake and should be accused again of speaking at random.
At last he felt almost perfectly sure of his facts, not only because of the handwriting, but because of the expressions used in the letter and of the peculiar coincidences.
"What!" he cried.
And he ran from the room, his heart swelling with determination and joy, scarcely heeded by the marquis, who was absorbed by his reflections.
Mario knew Master Jovelin's room, and he found his mother there, just about to withdraw without exhibiting the articles of which she was so jealous and distrustful a guardian.
Lucilio had been as profoundly impressed as the marquis by the coincidence of the date fixed in the child's mind by Abbé Anjorrant with that mentioned by the little gypsy as the date of Florimond's death. He had not the slightest belief in magic; but, as he was also struck by La Flèche's mention of the name of Mario, he feared that the marquis was the dupe of some juggling scheme.
He began to suspect the Moorish woman herself, and his first act, on returning to the château, was to send for her and question her in writing, with much conciseness and severity. He insisted that she should produce the ring and the letter from Monsieur Anjorrant of which she had spoken; and, although she felt profound respect and sympathy for him, as his persistence led her to fear the indirect intervention of D'Alvimar in this examination she was undergoing, she had taken refuge in agonized silence.
As soon as Mario appeared, her wounded heart gave vent in the complaint which it dared not address directly to Lucilio.