There was a faint glitter in his eyes; but Bonavent missed it.
Charolais came into the room, and said, in a grumbling tone, “A run-away knock. I wish I could catch the brats; I’d warm them. They wouldn’t go fetching me away from my work again, in a hurry, I can tell you.”
Lupin opened the letter, and read it. As he read it, at first he frowned; then he smiled; and then he laughed joyously. It ran:
“SIR,”
“M. Guerchard has told me everything. With regard to Sonia I have judged you: a man who loves a thief can be nothing but a rogue. I have two pieces of news to announce to you: the death of the Duke of Charmerace, who died three years ago, and my intention of becoming engaged to his cousin and heir, M. de Relzières, who will assume the title and the arms.”
“For Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin,”
“Her maid, IRMA.”
“She does write in shocking bad taste,” said Lupin, shaking his head sadly. “Charolais, sit down and write a letter for me.”
“Me?” said Charolais.
“Yes; you. It seems to be the fashion in financial circles; and I am bound to follow it when a lady sets it. Write me a letter,” said Lupin.
Charolais went to the writing-table reluctantly, sat down, set a sheet of paper on the blotter, took a pen in his hand, and sighed painfully.