Monsieur de Sallenauve opened his eyes, shook himself, and then said, turning to me:—
“Pardon me, Monsieur le comte, but for the last ten nights I have travelled, without stopping, to meet you here; and though I spent the last night in a bed, I am still much fatigued.”
So saying he rose, took a large pinch of snuff, and began to walk up and down the room, while Jacques Bricheteau continued:—
“It is a little more than a year since I received a letter from your father explaining his long silence, the plans he had made for you, and the necessity he was under of keeping his incognito for a few years longer. It was at that very time that you made your attempt to penetrate a secret the existence of which had become apparent to you.”
“You made haste to escape me,” I said laughing. “It was then you went to Stockholm.”
“No, I went to your father’s residence; I put the letter that he gave me for you into the post at Stockholm.”
“I do not seize your—”
“Nothing is easier to understand,” interrupted the marquis. “I do not reside in Sweden, and we wished to throw you off the track.”
“Will you continue the explanation yourself?” asked Jacques Bricheteau, who spoke, as you may have observed, my dear friend, with elegance and fluency.
“No, no, go on,” said the marquis; “you are giving it admirably.”