"By the way," he said, pausing near the door, having risen to go, "you have not told me the name of your trusted messenger."
And before the Vicomte opened his lips the answer flashed across my mind.
"Charles Miste," he said.
Chapter X
The Golden Spoon
"Nous avons tous assez de force pour supporter les maux d'autrui."
A few days later I received a letter from Madame de Clericy. "I write," it ran, "to tell you of the satisfaction that Lucille and I have found in the improvements you initiated here. I laugh—mon ami—when I think of all that you did in three days. It seems as if a strong and energetic wind—such as I imagine your English breezes to be—had blown across my old home, leaving it healthier, purer, better; leaving also those within it somewhat breathless and surprised. I suppose that many Englishmen are like you, and suspect that they will some day master the world. We have had visitors, among others Alphonse Giraud, whom I believe you do not yet know. If contrasts are mutually attractive, then you will like him. I wonder if you know, or suspect, that he is more or less an acknowledged aspirant to Lucille's hand, but—"
Madame de Clericy had run her pen through the last word, leaving it, however, legible. And here she began a new subject, asking me, indeed, to write and give her news of the Vicomte. I am no indoor man or subtle analyst of a motive—much less of a woman's motive, if, indeed, women are so often possessed of such, as some believe—but the obliterated word and Madame de Clericy's subsequent embarkation on a new subject made me pause while I deciphered her letter.