“No, ma’am, so far as I am aware my uncle enjoys his customary health.”
“Ah, mon Dieu, it is Dominique! He has been shot in a duel? drowned in his yacht? dead of a fever? Speak, you!”
“My cousin is well, ma’am. Do not alarm yourself on that score. But the news is the worst imaginable.”
“If he is well it cannot be the worst,” said Léonie. “Please do not prepare me for a shock any more; I find it too alarming. What has happened to my son?”
“Madam, I regret to be obliged to soil your ears with the story, which I myself find excessively disagreeable. Vidal has abducted — I fear perhaps with violence — a young female of virtue and family.”
“Oh, mordieu, it is the bourgeoise!” said Léonie. “And now Monseigneur will be more displeased than ever! Tell me it all!”
Mr. Marling regarded her with an expression of pained severity. “Possibly, my dear aunt, you would prefer to read it. I have a billet for you from my mother.”
“Give it to me at once, then,” said Léonie, and fairly snatched it from his hand.
Lady Fanny’s agitated scrawl covered three pages. Léonie read them quickly, and exclaimed at the end that Fanny was an angel. She said that she would return to town at once, and upon her hostess coming into the room, greeted her with apologies, and the information that Lady Fanny was ill, and needed her. Lady Vane was all solicitude, and put a number of sympathetic questions to John which caused that conscientious young man to wriggle uncomfortably. She prevailed on Léonie to postpone her departure at least until next morning, and this Léonie consented to do out of consideration for her nephew, who had been travelling all day.
He and she set forth next day in her grace’s huge travelling coach. Léonie did not seem to be greatly disturbed by her son’s conduct. She said cheerfully that it was very odd of Dominique to abduct the wrong sister, and asked John what he supposed could have happened. John, who was feeling tired and annoyed, said that he could not venture a guess.