He would have given a month's wages,
and something over, to have known the contents of that letter, the
fragments of which were being so carefully collected by the count.
And when he heard M. de Chalusse tell Mademoiselle Marguerite that
the most important part of the letter was still lacking, and saw
his master relinquish his fruitless search, the worthy valet vowed
that he would be more skilful or more fortunate than his master;
and after diligent effort, he actually succeeded in recovering
five tiny scraps of paper, which had been blown into the
shrubbery.
They were covered with delicate handwriting, a lady's
unquestionably; but he was utterly unable to extract the slightest
meaning from them. Nevertheless, he preserved them with jealous
care, and was careful not to say that he had found them. The
incoherent words which he had deciphered on these scraps of paper
mixed strangely in his brain, and he grew more and more anxious to
learn what connection there was between this letter and the
count's attack. This explains his extreme readiness to search the
count's clothes when Mademoiselle Marguerite told him to look for
the key of the escritoire. And fortune favored him, for he not
only found the key, but he also discovered the torn fragments of
the letter, and having crumpled them up in the palm of his hand,
he contrived to slip them into his pocket. Fruitless dexterity!
M. Casimir had joined these scraps to the fragments he had found
himself, he had read and re-read the epistle, but it told him
nothing; or, at least, the information it conveyed was so vague
and incomplete that it heightened his curiosity all the more.
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