"I will be quite frank with you," said De Casimir, in that voice of
confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its effect.
"You know that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, Mademoiselle
Mathilde Sebastian?"
"Yes."
De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and
gave a short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It was
odd that Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should
both have been tripped up, as it were, by love.
"Bah!" he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, "I cannot
tell you more. It is a woman's secret, Monsieur, not mine. Will
you deliver a letter for me in Dantzig, that is all I ask?"
"I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle Mathilde,
if you like; I am not returning to Dantzig," replied Louis. But de
Casimir shook his head.
"I am afraid that will not do," he said doubtfully. "Between
sisters, you understand--"
And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is it not
from our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually
withheld?
"You cannot find another messenger?" asked De Casimir, and the
anxiety in his face was genuine enough.
"I can--if you wish it."
"Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget it,"
said the sick man quickly and eagerly. "The letter is there,
beneath that sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed."
Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it
in his pocket.
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