Was Monsieur mad to remain out at night?
Had Monsieur not heard of the yellow fever? Madame Gravois even had
prepared some concoction which she poured out of a bottle, and which I
took with the docility of a child. Monsieur Vigo had called, and there
was a note. A note? It was a small note. I glanced stupidly at the
seal, recognized the swan of the St. Gre crest, broke it, and read:--
"Mr. Ritchie will confer a favor upon la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour if he
will come to Monsieur de St. Gre's house at eight to-morrow morning."
I bade the reluctant Madame Gravois good night, gained my room, threw
off my clothes, and covered myself with the mosquito bar. There was no
question of sleep, for the events of the day and surmises for the morrow
tortured me as I tossed in the heat. Had the man been Gignoux? If so,
he was in league with Carondelet's police. I believed him fully capable
of this. And if he knew Nick's whereabouts and St. Gre's, they would
both be behind the iron gateway of the calabozo in the morning. Monsieur
Vigo had pointed out to me that day the gloomy, heavy-walled prison in
the rear of the Cabildo,--ay, and he had spoken of its instruments of
torture.
What could the Vicomtesse want? Truly (I thought with remorse) she had
been more industrious than I.
I fell at length into a fevered sleep, and awoke, athirst, with the light
trickling through my lattices.
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