She bade Marius call Fortunio, and then dismissed the courier, bidding her captain see to his refreshment.
Then, alone at last with her son, she hastily tore the covering from the letter, unfolded it and read. And Marius, moved by anxiety, came to stand beside and just behind her, where he too might read. The letter ran:
“MY VERY DEAR MARQUISE,—I do not doubt but that it will pleasure you to hear that I am on my way home, and that but for a touch of fever that has detained us here at La Rochette, I should be at Condillac as soon as the messenger who is the bearer of these presents. A courier from Paris found me a fortnight since in Milan, with letters setting forth that my father had been dead six months, and that it was considered expedient at Court that I should return home forthwith to assume the administration of Condillac. I am lost in wonder that a communication of this nature should have been addressed to me from Paris instead of from you, as surely it must have been your duty to advise me of my father’s decease at the time of that untoward event. I am cast down by grief at this evil news, and the summons from Court has brought me in all haste from Milan. The lack of news from Condillac has been for months a matter of surprise to me. My father’s death may be some explanation of this, but scarcely explanation enough. However, madame, I count upon it that you will be able to dispel such doubts as I am fostering. I count too, upon being at Condillac by the end of week, but I beg that neither you nor my dear Marius will allow this circumstance to make any difference to yourselves, just as, although I am returning to assume the government of Condillac as the Court has suggested to me, I hope that yourself and my dear brother will continue to make it your home for as long as it shall pleasure you. So long shall it pleasure me.
“I am, my dear marquise, your very humble and very affectionate servant and stepson,
“FLORIMOND”
When she had read to the end, the Dowager turned back and read aloud the passage: “However, madame, I count upon it that you will be able to dispel such doubts as I am fostering.” She looked at her son, who had shifted his position, so that he was now confronting her.
“He has his suspicions that all is not as it should be,” sneered Marius.
“Yet his tone is amiable throughout. It cannot be that they said too much in that letter from Paris.” A little trill of bitter laughter escaped her. “We are to continue to make this our home for as long as it shall pleasure us. So long shall it pleasure him!”
Then, with a sudden seriousness, she folded the letter and, putting her hands behind her, looked up into her son’s face.
“Well?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”