"If I were in
your place," he said, "I should try to interest his relatives and
family in my case----"
"The count has no relatives."
"Impossible!"
"He hasn't, indeed. During the ten years I was in his service, I
heard him say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of
all his family--that all the others were dead. People pretend
that this is the reason why he is so immensely rich."
M. Fortunat's interest was no longer assumed; he was rapidly
approaching the real object of his visit. "No relatives!" he
muttered. "Who, then, will inherit his millions when he dies?"
Madame Vantrasson jerked her head. "Who can say?" she replied.
"Everything will go to the government, probably, unless---- But
no, that's impossible."
"What's impossible?"
"Nothing. I was thinking of the count's sister, Mademoiselle
Hermine."
"His sister! Why, you said just now that he had no relatives."
"It's the same as if he hadn't; no one knows what has become of
her, poor creature! Some say that she married; others declare that
she died. It's quite a romance."
M. Isidore Fortunat was literally upon the rack; and to make his
sufferings still more horrible, he dared not ask any direct
question, nor allow his curiosity to become manifest, for fear of
alarming the woman. "Let me see," said he; "I think--I am sure
that I have heard--or that I have read--I cannot say which--some
story about a Mademoiselle de Chalusse.
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