“What is it, madame?” said he.

“For pity’s sake, pardon me; has any accident happened to the duke?”

“You ask me to pardon you, only that you may read this letter, and I have already told you that no one shall read it but the duchesse.”

“Ah! obstinate and stupid that you are,” cried the duchess, with a fury mingled with majesty; “do you not recognize me?—­or rather, could you not divine that I was the mistress?—­and are these the eyes of a servant?  I am the Duchesse de Montpensier; give me the letter.”

“You are the duchesse!” cried Ernanton, starting back.

“Yes, I am.  Give it to me; I want to know what has happened to my brother.”

But instead of obeying, as the duchess expected, the young man, recovering from his first surprise, crossed his arms.

“How can I believe you, when you have already lied to me twice?”

The duchess’s eyes shot forth fire at these words, but Ernanton stood firm.

“Ah! you doubt still—­you want proofs!” cried she, tearing her lace ruffles with rage.

“Yes, madame.”

She darted toward the bell, and rang it furiously; a valet appeared.

“What does madame want?” said he.

She stamped her foot with rage.  “Mayneville!” cried she, “I want Mayneville.  Is he not here?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Let him come here.”

The valet went, and, a minute after, Mayneville entered.

“Did you send for me, madame?” said he.

“Madame!  And since when am I simply madame?” cried she angrily.

“Your highness!” said Mayneville, in surprise.

“Good!” said Ernanton, “I have now a gentleman before me, and if he has lied, I shall know what to do.”

“You believe then, at last?” said the duchess.

“Yes, madame, I believe, and here is the letter;” and, bowing, the young man gave to Madame de Montpensier the letter so long disputed.

CHAPTER XLI.

The letter of M. De Mayenne.

The duchess seized the letter, opened it, and read it eagerly, while various expressions passed over her face, like clouds over the sky.  When she had finished, she gave it to Mayneville to read.  It was as follows: 

“My sister—­I tried to do myself the work I should have left to others, and I have been punished for it.  I have received a sword wound from the fellow whom you know.  The worst of it is, that he has killed five of my men, and among them Boularon and Desnoises, who are my best, after which he fled.  I must tell you that he was aided by the bearer of this letter, a charming young man, as you may see.  I recommend him to you; he is discretion itself.

“One merit which he will have, I presume, in your eyes, my dear sister, is having prevented my conqueror from killing me, as he much