Now we both honestly intended to keep to this agreement, and to trouble our heads with our own affairs alone; but fate would have it otherwise.
A few days after the foregoing conversation, as my brother and I were sitting at our studies in the apartment which had been originally our father’s, but which we had occupied since his death, Marie came running into the room with tears in her eyes, and looking the very picture of terror.
“Cousin Claud! cousin Martin!” she cried, “that wicked, wicked man!”
“What is the matter, Marie? why are you so frightened?” asked Martin.
“Enough to make one frightened—that bad man is going to kill us all—you, Claud, and poor me.”
“Nonsense, Marie. Kill us, indeed! What for?” said I, laughing.
“To get the money my father left us in his will. You know it goes to her, if we all die first.”
“This is indeed foolish, you silly girl,” said Martin. “What can he want with our money? Why, he is as rich as Crœsus.”
“Oh!” she replied, “that is no matter; he wants more than he has of his own, and that grand but wicked-looking Prince wants it, too. But listen, and I will tell you how I found it all out. You must know,” she added, in whispered tones, “that Cæsar” (a favorite dog) “and I were having a game of romps, when suddenly he scampered into Mynheer Ebberfeld’s private garden, which, you know, he has forbidden either of us to enter. Well, not dreaming that Mynheer was there, indeed, quite thoughtlessly, I ran after Cæsar, and found myself close to the pavilion before I knew where I was. Then, hearing two voices—those of the Prince and Mynheer—I could not help going near, quite near, to the woodwork—”
“And listening,” said Martin. “Had you forgotten the fate of Bluebeard’s wives?”