"Ah!"
He took up the two letters, directed them, and rang for his servant.
"Take these," he said, "and deliver them."
Joseph departed without a word; admirable servant!
We began to talk of the expedition to Morea, to which I was anxious to be appointed as physician. Eugene remarked that I should lose a great deal of time if I left Paris. We then conversed on various matters, and I think you will be glad if I suppress the conversation.
When the Marquise de Listomere rose, about half-past two in the afternoon of that day, her waiting-maid, Caroline, gave her a letter which she read while Caroline was doing her hair (an imprudence which many young women are thoughtless enough to commit).
"Dear angel of love," said the letter, "treasure of my life and happiness—"
At these words the marquise was about to fling the letter in the fire; but there came into her head a fancy—which all virtuous women will readily understand—to see how a man who began a letter in that style could possibly end it. When she had turned the fourth page and read it, she let her arms drop like a person much fatigued.
"Caroline, go and ask who left this letter."
"Madame, I received it myself from the valet of Monsieur le Baron de Rastignac."