"A brother, yes,—what of it?" and Miss Gastonguay brought her eyes to bear sharply upon him.
Justin was leaning forward on the table now. He had become the strict man of business; he had a tale to unfold to her that she should hear even though he compelled her to it.
"I had a brother Charles," she snapped at him when he did not speak,—"Chelda's father, now dead."
"I refer to another brother," he said, calmly, "a younger brother."
Miss Gastonguay's face showed uncontrollable emotion. No one in Rossignol but this young man would have dared mention the name of this brother to her. Years ago he had been cast off by his family as an incorrigible black sheep. It was not known what had become of him. His name had been dropped, and even in gossiping Rossignol there were many people who did not know of his existence. She tried to rise and fling herself from the room, but she found herself trembling so violently that she was obliged to sit still to gather strength.
"Your brother Louis," pursued Justin, in measured tones, "named from the founder of the house."
"A villain,—a scoundrel," muttered Miss Gastonguay, flashing him a furious glance,—"a disgrace to the name, a boy that should have been strangled in his cradle."
"But never by the hand of his sister," murmured Justin, with a strange softening of his tone," his little sister Jane, whom he loved."
Miss Gastonguay turned fiercely on him. "Young man, what are you talking about? What do you know of this affair? Have some of your strict Puritans been telling you to discipline a victim many years your senior, by tearing open this old sore?"
"No, no,—Miss Gastonguay, hear me patiently. I have a message to you from this brother."