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Updated: May 28, 2025
It was dated at the governor's house at Montreal, and directed to me at Michillimackinac. I was alone with Dubisson and I turned to him. "Madame Bertheau is at Montreal?" He shrugged. "So I hear." "She has come to see her brother?" Now he grinned. "Ostensibly, monsieur." There was no need to hide my feeling from Dubisson, so I sat with my chin sunk low and thought it over. I was ill pleased.
With this woman even Pierre had better speech at his command. "Madame, who told you this?" "Monsieur, the tale is common property in Paris." "May I ask who told you, madame?" "My cousin, monsieur." "I thought so." She looked at me fairly, almost sadly, as if she begged to read my mind. "Monsieur, why should you regret my knowing? It is to your credit that you admire Madame Bertheau.
"Madame de Montlivet, what right have I to be carrying another woman's miniature? I shall write the fact of my marriage to Madame Bertheau, and the matter will be closed. No, the Indians did not take the miniature. I buried it in the woods." "Monsieur, that was not necessary!" "I thought that it was, madame." She stood with a chair between us.
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