Monsieur le Baron Bourlac,—The sums which we have spent for you,
under the orders of a charitable lady, amount to fifteen thousand
francs. Take note of this, so that you may return that sum either
yourself, or through your descendants, whenever the prosperity of
your family will admit of it,—for that money is the money of the
poor. When you or your family are able to make this restitution,
pay the sum you owe into the hands of Messrs. Mongenod and
Company, bankers.
May God forgive you.
Five crosses formed the mysterious signature of this letter, which Godefroid returned to the baron.
“The five crosses are there,” he said as if to himself.
“Ah! monsieur,” said the old man; “you do know all; you were sent to me by that mysterious lady—tell me her name!”
“Her name!” exclaimed Godefroid; “her name! Unhappy man! you must not ask it; never seek to find it out. Ah! madame,” he cried, taking Madame de Mergi’s hand; “tell your father, if he values his peace of mind, to remain in his ignorance and make no effort to discover the truth.”
“No, tell it!” said Vanda.
“Well, then, she who saved your daughter,” said Godefroid, looking at the old man, “who returns her to you young and beautiful and fresh and happy, who rescued her from her coffin, she who saved your grandson from disgrace, and has given you an old age of peace and honor—” He stopped short—“is a woman whom you sent innocent to prison for twenty years; to whom, as a magistrate, you did the foulest wrong; whose sanctity you insulted; whose beautiful daughter you tore from her arms and condemned to the cruellest of all deaths, for she died on the guillotine.”
Godefroid, seeing that Vanda had fallen back half fainting on her chair, rushed into the corridor and from there into the street, running at full speed.
“If you want your pardon,” said Baron Bourlac to his grandson, “follow that man and find out where he lives.”
Auguste was off like an arrow.