“I will tell you, Antoinette,” began the Vicomtesse; “it was as you said. Mr. Ritchie and I found him at Lamarque's. He had not taken your money; he did not even know that Auguste had gone to see you. He did not even know,” she said, bending over the girl, “that he was on your father's plantation. When we told him that, he would have left it at once.”
“Yes,” she said.
“He did not know that his mother was still in New Orleans. And when we told him how ill she was he would have come to her then. It was as much as we could do to persuade him to wait until we had seen Monsieur de Carondelet. Mr. Ritchie and I came directly to town and saw his Excellency.”
It was characteristic of the Vicomtesse that she told this almost with a man's brevity, that she omitted the stress and trouble and pain of it all. These things were done; the tact and skill and character of her who had accomplished them were not spoken of. The girl listened immovable, her lips parted and her eyes far away. Suddenly, with an awakening, she turned to Hélène.
“You did this!” she cried.
“Mr. Ritchie and I together,” said the Vicomtesse.
Her next exclamation was an odd one, showing how the mind works at such a time.
“But his Excellency was having his siesta!” said Antoinette.
Again Hélène glanced at me, but I cannot be sure that she smiled.
“We thought the matter of sufficient importance to awake his Excellency,” said Hélène.