_The Florentines._
M. Étienne, forgetting his manners, snatched the papers from his
father's hand, turning them about and about, not able to believe his
senses. A man hurled over a cliff, plunging in one moment from flowery
lawns into a turbulent sea, might feel as he did.
"But the seal!" he stammered.
"The seal was genuine," Monsieur answered, startled as he. "How your
fellow could have the king's signet--"
"See," M. Étienne cried, scratching at the fragments. "This is it. Dunce
that I am not to have guessed it! Look, there is a layer of paper
embedded in the wax. Look, he cut the seal out, smeared hot wax on the
false packet, pressed in the seal, and curled the new wax over the edge.
It was cleverly done; the seal is but little thicker, little larger than
before. It did not look tampered with. Would you have suspected it,
Monsieur?" he demanded piteously.
"I had no thought of it. But this Peyrot--it may not yet be too late--"
"I will go back," M. Étienne cried, darting to the door. But Monsieur
laid forcible hands on him.
"Not you, Étienne. You were hurt yesterday; you have not closed your
eyes for twenty-four hours. I don't want a dead son. I blame you not for
the failure; not another man of us all would have come so near success."
"Dolt! I should have known he could not deal honestly," M. Étienne
cried. "I should have known he would trick me. But I did not think to
doubt the crest. I should have opened it there in the inn, but it was
Lemaître's sealed packet. However, Peyrot sat down to my dinner: I can
be back before he has finished his three kinds of wine."
"Stop, Étienne," Monsieur commanded. "I forbid you. You are gray with
fatigue. Vigo shall go."
M. Étienne turned on him in fiery protest; then the blaze in his eyes
flickered out, and he made obedient salute.
"So be it. Let him go. I am no use; I bungle everything I touch. But he
may accomplish something."
He flung himself down on the bench in the corner, burying his face in
his hands, weary, chagrined, disheartened. A statue-maker might have
copied him for a figure of Defeat.
"Go find Vigo," Monsieur bade me, "and then get you to bed."