A shadow rested on the satisfaction that the Count de Chagny was feeling in his eloquence and magnanimous proposal. Dorothy maintained an obstinate silence. Her eyes gazed vacantly before her. She did not stir. Was she thinking that the Count had not taken much trouble to discover the daughter of his kinsman Jean d'Argonne and to rescue her from the life she was leading? Was she still feeling some resentment on account of the humiliation she had suffered in being accused of stealing the earrings?
The Countess de Chagny questioned her gently:
"What's the matter, Dorothy? This letter has filled you with gloom. It's the death of your father, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Dorothy after a pause in a dull voice. "It's a terrible business."
"You also believe that they murdered him?"
"Certainly. If not, the medal would have been found. Besides, the last sheets of the letter are explicit."
"And it's your feeling that we ought to have striven to bring the murderer to book?"
"I don't know ... I don't know," said the young girl slowly.
"But if you think so, we can take the matter up again. You may be sure that we will lend you our assistance."
"No," she said. "I will act alone. It will be best. I will discover the guilty man; and he shall be punished. I promise my father he shall. I swear it."