Although the Duke hastened to save it, yet a great part of it had already been consumed by the flames. The rest he locked up in his writing desk.
“Why have you done this?” he said to the Count with rising anger.
“Because I do not like to have my secrets wrested from me by force.”
The Duke took several turns in his apartment in order to recover his equanimity, and then rung the bell. “Wine,” he called to the servant, who brought it immediately and retired.
“Count,” said the Duke in a mild accent, “the wine possesses the virtue of rendering people communicative and sincere. Let us drink.”
“You shall draw my secrets from me neither by force nor artifice. I shall at least have the merit of confessing voluntarily, what I can, and dare confess.”
“Very well. However, wine possesses also the virtue of dispelling animosity and perplexity. Come, let us drink.”
The Count consented to it.
“First of all,” said the Duke, after they had been seated, “tell me where is Hiermanfor? He promised to pay me a visit as soon as Por***al should be delivered from the Spa**sh yoke, but has not been as good as his word.”
“He could not. Affairs of the greatest importance have called him to Brasil, where he very probably is at present.”