As to the jewels, if Gaston persisted in claiming them, Louis could safely offer to go and get them for him, as he had only to redeem them from the pawnbroker.

But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds.

“You know,” said Gaston, “I have written.”

Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretended to be very much surprised, and said: 

“Written?  To whom?  Where?  For what?”

“To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valentine’s husband.”

“You are still thinking of her?”

“She is never absent from my thoughts.”

“You have not given up your idea of going to see her?”

“Of course not.”

“Alas, Gaston! you forget that she whom you once loved is now the wife of another, and possibly the mother of a large family.  How do you know that she will consent to see you?  Why run the risk of destroying her domestic happiness, and planting seeds of remorse in your own bosom?”

“I know I am a fool; but my folly is dear to me, and I would not cure it if I could.”

The quiet determination of Gaston’s tone convinced Louis that all remonstrances would be unavailing.

Yet he remained the same in his manner and behavior, apparently engrossed in pleasure parties; but, in reality, his only thought was the mail.  He always managed to be at the door when the postman came, so that he was the first to receive his brother’s letters.

When he and Gaston were out together at the time of the postman’s visit, he would hurry into the house first, so as to look over the letters which were always laid in a card-basket on the hall table.

His watchfulness was at last rewarded.

The following Sunday, among the letters handed to him by the postman, was one bearing the postmark of Beaucaire.

He quickly slipped it into his pocket; and, although he was on the point of mounting his horse to ride with Gaston, he said that he must run up to his room to get something he had forgotten; this was to gratify his impatient desire to read the letter.

He tore it open, and, seeing “Lafourcade” signed at the bottom of three closely written pages, hastily devoured the contents.

After reading a detailed account of events entirely uninteresting to him, Louis came to the following passage relating to Valentine: 

“Mlle. de la Verberie’s husband is an eminent banker named Andre Fauvel.  I have not the honor of his acquaintance, but I intend going to see him shortly.  I am anxious to submit to him a project that I have conceived for the benefit of this part of the country.  If he approves of it, I shall ask him to invest in it, as his name will be of great assistance to the scheme.  I suppose you have no objections to my referring him to you, should he ask for my indorsers.”

Louis trembled like a man who had just made a narrow escape from death.  He well knew that he would have to fly the country if Gaston received this letter.