“I beg your pardon. I merely point out her unfortunate way of seeking redress; beyond that I do not presume to judge. I consider it a wrong step to break the union sanctified by the Church, and desert both hearth and country. It is a godless thing, and leads to destruction. And what happened while you were with her? What did she determine on? Where is she now?”
“In Paris.”
“In Paris! Is that so? And the purpose of her visit?”
“She wants to recuperate. I don’t grudge her the chance. She needs it.”
“I don’t question it, countess. But Paris seems an unusual place for such a purpose. And did she directly refuse the pleasure of your society, or do you merely fail to share her taste for recuperating in Paris?”
The countess was visibly embarrassed. She wrinkled her brow, and her little red cheeks glowed. “In the hotel she made the acquaintance of a Vicomte Seignan-Castreul, who was staying there with his sister,” she said hesitantly. “They invited Letitia to be their guest in Paris and afterwards at their château in Brittany. The child wept, and said to me: ‘Auntie, I’d love to go, but I can’t because I haven’t a cent.’ It cut me to the heart, and I scraped together what I could—five thousand francs in all. The darling thanked me from the heart, and then left with the vicomte and vicomtesse, and promised to meet me in Baden-Baden in October.”
“And where are the twins in the meanwhile?”
“She took them with her, of course—the twins, and their Argentinian nurse, an English maid, and her own maid.”
“I honour your generosity, countess, but I don’t somehow like either your vicomte or your vicomtesse.”
The countess suddenly gave a loud sob. “I don’t either!” she cried, and pressed her hands to her face. “I don’t either. If only the dear child does not meet with new misfortunes! But what was I to do? Can one resist her pleading? I was so happy to have her back; I felt as though she’d risen from the grave. No, the vicomte is not sympathetic to me at all. He has a dæmoniac character.”