“I congratulate you, sir, because I understand you have married a woman of sense. To marry a fool—to form or to have any connexion with a fool,” continued his lordship, his countenance changing remarkably as he spoke, “I conceive to be the greatest evil, the greatest curse, that can be inflicted on a man of sense.”
He walked across the room with long, firm, indignant strides—then stopping short, he exclaimed, “Lettres de cachet!—Dangerous instruments in bad hands!—As what are not?—But one good purpose they answered—they put it in the power of the head of every noble house to disown, and to deprive of the liberty to disgrace his family, any member who should manifest the will to commit desperate crime or desperate folly.”
Alfred was by no means disposed to join in praise even of this use of a lettre de cachet, but he did not think it a proper time to argue the point, as he saw Lord Oldborough was under the influence of some strong passion. He waited in silence till his lordship should explain himself farther.
His lordship unlocked a desk, and produced a letter.
“Pray, Mr. Percy—Mr. Alfred Percy—have you heard any thing lately of the Marchioness of Twickenham?”
“No, my lord.”
Alfred, at this instant, recollected the whisper which he had once heard at chapel, and he added, “Not of late, my lord.”
“There,” said Lord Oldborough, putting a letter into Alfred’s hands—“there is the sum of what I have heard.”
The letter was from the Duke of Greenwich, informing Lord Oldborough that an unfortunate discovery had been made of an affair between the Marchioness of Twickenham and a certain Captain Bellamy, which rendered an immediate separation necessary.
“So!” thought Alfred, “my brother Godfrey had a fine escape of this fair lady!”