“I hope your expectations may be realized, my dear sir.”
But they came again for the doctor the third time to-day. Shaking hands
with the young advocate, he parted with his young friend, who after a
short visit to M. Magloire, whom he thought it his duty to keep well
informed of all that was going on, hastened to the house of M. de
Chandore. As soon as he looked into Dionysia’s face, he knew that he
had nothing to tell her; that she knew all the facts, and how unjust her
suspicions had been.
“What did I tell you, madam?” he said very modestly.
She blushed, ashamed at having let him see the secret doubts which had
troubled her so sorely, and, instead of replying, she said,--
“There are some letters for you, M. Folgat. They have carried them up
stairs to your room.”
He found two letters,--one from Mrs. Goudar, the other from the agent
who had been sent to England.
The former was of no importance. Mrs. Goudar only asked him to send a
note, which she enclosed, to her husband.
The second, on the other hand, was of the very greatest interest. The
agent wrote,--
“Not without great difficulties, and especially not without a heavy
outlay of money, I have at length discovered Sir Francis Burnett’s
brother in London, the former cashier of the house of Gilmour and
Benson.
“Our Sir Francis is not dead. He was sent by his father to Madras, to
attend to very important financial matters, and is expected back by the
next mail steamer. We shall be informed of his arrival on the very day
on which he lands.
“I have had less trouble in discovering Suky Wood’s family. They are
people very well off, who keep a sailor’s tavern in Folkstone. They
had news from their daughter about three weeks ago; but, although
they profess to be very much attached to her, they could not tell me
accurately where she was just now. All they know is, that she has gone
to Jersey to act as barmaid in a public house.
“But that is enough for me. The island is not very large; and I know it
quite well, having once before followed a notary public there, who had
run off with the money of his clients. You may consider Suky as safe.
“When you receive this letter, I shall be on my way to Jersey.
“Send me money there to the Golden Apple Hotel, where I propose to
lodge. Life is amazingly dear in London; and I have very little left of
the sum you gave me on parting.”
Thus, in this direction, at least, every thing was going well.
Quite elated by this first success, M. Folgat put a thousand-franc note
into an envelope, directed it as desired, and sent it at once to the
post-office. Then he asked M. de Chandore to lend him his carriage, and
went out to Boiscoran.
He wanted to see Michael, the tenant’s son, who had been so prompt
in finding Cocoleu, and in bringing him into town. He found him,
fortunately, just coming home, bringing in a cart loaded with straw;
and, taking him aside, he asked him,--
“Will you render M. de Boiscoran a great service?”
“What must I do?” replied the young man in a tone of voice which said,
better than all protestations could have done, that he was ready to do
any thing.
“Do you know Trumence?”
“The former basket-weaver of Tremblade?”
“Exactly.”
“Upon my word, don’t I know him? He has stolen apples enough from me,
the scamp! But I don’t blame him so much, after all; for he is a good
fellow, in spite of that.”
“He was in prison at Sauveterre.”
“Yes, I know; he had broken down a gate near Brechy and”--
“Well, he has escaped.”
“Ah, the scamp!”
“And we must find him again. They have put the gendarmes on his track;
but will they catch him?”
Michael burst out laughing.
“Never in his life!” he said. “Trumence will make his way to Oleron,
where he has friends; the gendarmes will be after him in vain.”