"I have news. The Indian brought me this letter from Albany."
I could not help glancing curiously at the sheet in her hand, spotted on the back with broken red wafers. It was the first letter I had ever seen. Doctor Chantry told me he received but one during the winter from his sister, and paid two Spanish reals in postage for it, besides a fee and some food and whisky to the Indian who made the journey to deliver such parcels. It was a trying and an important experience to receive a letter. I was surprised that Madame Tank had recommended my sending one into the Wisconsin country.
"Count de Chaumont is gone; and I must have advice."
"Madame," I said, "Doctor Chantry was asleep, but I will wake him and bring him here."
"No. I will tell you. Monsieur, my Cousin Philippe is dead."
It might have shocked me more if I had known she had a Cousin Philippe. I said stupidly:
"Is he?"
"Cousin Philippe was my husband, you understand."
"Madame, are you married?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed. And I confessed to myself that in no other way could Paul be accounted for.