"
Even if M. Fortunat had wished to put in a word or two, he could
have found no opportunity. But his guest's loquacity did not
displease him; it gave him an opportunity for reflection. Strange
thoughts arose in his mind, and connecting M. Casimir's
affirmations with the assurances of the Marquis de Valorsay, he
was amazed at the coincidence. "It's very singular!" he thought.
"Has this girl really stolen the money? and has the marquis
discovered the fact through Madame Leon, and determined to profit
by the theft? In that case, I may get my money back, after all! I
must look into the matter."
A partridge and a bottle of Pomard followed the shrimps and
chablis; and M. Casimir's loquacity increased, and his voice rose
higher and higher. He wandered from one absurd story to another,
and from slander to slander, until suddenly, and without the
slightest warning, he began to speak of the mysterious letter
which he considered the undoubted cause of the count's illness.
At the first word respecting this missive, M. Fortunat started
violently. "Nonsense!" said he, with an incredulous air. "Why
the devil should this letter have had such an influence?"
"I don't know. But it is certain--it had." And, in support of
his assertion, he told M. Fortunat how the count had destroyed the
letter almost without reading it, and how he had afterward
searched for the fragments, in order to find an address it had
contained.
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