Dorothy appeared greatly surprised by this revelation, and she replied in an absentminded tone:
“Oh! … really? … You saw? …”
She went to one of the windows and stood there for some minutes, her forehead resting against a pane. The last veils which obscured the adventure were withdrawn. Really there had been two gold medals. One, which was invalid and belonged to Jean d’Argonne, had been stolen by d’Estreicher, recovered by Raoul’s father, and sent to the old Baron. The other, the valid one was the one which belonged to the old Baron, who, out of prudence or greed, had never spoken of it to his son or grandson. In his madness, and dispossessed in his turn of the token, which he had hidden in his dog’s collar, he had gone to win the treasure with the other medal, which he had entrusted to Juliet Assire, and which d’Estreicher had been unable to find.
All at once Dorothy saw all the consequences which followed this revelation. In taking from the dog’s collar the medal which she believed to be hers, she had robbed Raoul of his inheritance. In returning to the Manor and offering alms to the son of the man who had been an accomplice in her father’s murder, she had imagined that she was performing an act of generosity and forgiveness, whereas she was merely restoring a small portion of that of which she had robbed him.
She restrained herself and said nothing. She must act cautiously in order that Raoul might never suspect his father’s crime. When she came from the window to the middle of the room, you would have said that her eyes were full of tears. Nevertheless she was smiling, and she said in a careless tone:
“Serious business tomorrow. Today let us rejoice at being reunited and celebrate that reunion. Will you invite me to dinner, Raoul? And my children too?”
She had recovered all her gayety. She ran to the big gateway of the orchard and called the boys, who came joyfully. The Captain threw himself into the arms of the Countess de Chagny. Saint-Quentin kissed her hand. They observed that Castor and Pollux had swollen noses, signs of a recent conflict.
The dinner was washed down with sparkling cider and champagne. All the evening Dorothy was lighthearted and affectionate to them all. They felt that she was happy to be alive.
Archibald Webster recalled her promise to her. It was the next day, the first of August, that she was to choose among her suitors.
“I stick to my promise,” she said.
“You will choose among those who are here? For I suppose that cousin Raoul is not the last to come forward as a candidate.”
“Among those who are here. And as there can be only one chosen, I insist on kissing you all tonight.”
She kissed the four young men, then the Count and Countess, then the four boys.
The party did not break up till midnight.
Next morning Raoul, Octave de Chagny, his wife, and the three strangers were at breakfast in the dining-room when a farm servant brought a letter.
Raoul looked at the handwriting and murmured gloomily:
“Ah, a letter from her. … Like the last time. … She has gone.”
He remembered, as did the Count and Countess, her departure from Roborey.
He tore open the letter and read aloud:
“Raoul, my friend,
“I earnestly beg you to believe blindly what I am going to tell you. It was revealed to me by certain facts which I learnt only yesterday.
“What I am writing is not a supposition, but an absolute certainty. I know it as surely as I know that light exists, and though I have very sound reasons for not divulging the proofs of it, I nevertheless wish you to act and think with the same conviction and serenity as I do myself.
“By my eternal salvation, this is the truth. Errington, Webster, Dario, and you, Raoul, are the veritable heirs of the Marquis de Beaugreval, specified in his will. Therefore the fourth diamond is yours. Webster will be delighted to go to Nantes tomorrow to give Maître Delarue a check for three hundred thousand francs and bring you back the diamond. I am sending to Maître Delarue at the same time as the receipt which he signed, the necessary instructions.
“I will confess, Raoul, that I felt a little disappointed yesterday when I discerned the truth—not much—just a few tears. Today I am quite contented. I had no great liking for that fortune—too many crimes and too many horrors went with it. Some things I should never have been able to forget. And then … and then money is a prison; and I could not bear to live locked up.
“Raoul, and you, my three new friends, you asked me—rather by way of a joke, wasn’t it?—to choose a sweetheart among those who found themselves at the Manor yesterday. May I answer you in rather the same manner, that my choice is made, that it is only possible for me to devote myself to the youngest of my four boys first, then to the others? Don’t be angry with me, my friends. My heart, up to now, is only the heart of a mother; and it only thrills with tenderness, anxiety and love for them. What would they do if I were to leave them? What would become of my poor Montfaucon? They need me and the really healthy life we lead together. Like them I am a nomad, a vagabond. There is no dwelling-place as good as our caravan. Let me go back to the high road.
“And then, after a time we will meet again, shall we? Our cousins the de Chagny will welcome us at Roborey. Come, let us fix a date. Christmas and New Year’s Day there—does that please you?
“Goodbye, my friend. My best love to you all, and a few tears. … In robore fortuna. Fortune is in the firm heart.
“I kiss you all.
A long silence followed the
