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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Ah! this is too much!" cried Monsieur de Lanty, reopening the drawer from which he had taken the portfolio, and taking out a packet of letters tied with a rose-colored ribbon. "I think these will put an end to your misunderstanding." I looked at the letters; they were not postmarked, and simply bore my name, Monsieur Dorlange, in a woman's handwriting, which was unknown to me.
"Heat is good for rheumatism, but rain is not," I said; then, turning to Monsieur Dorlange, I added: "As you were so kind as to offer to do this errand alone, may I ask you to give me your arm and come with me?"
"Yours, Benedetto! you the husband of such a beauty!" "Si, signore." "Nonsense! you are ugly and drunken, and people say you are police spy; but she, on the contrary, is as handsome as Diana the huntress." "I charmed her with my talent; she adores me." "Well, if she is your wife, make her pose to our friend here, Dorlange, who wants a model for his Pandora. He can't get a finer one."
I have really, as you see now, no light upon the matter, and yet when I recall the whole manner and behavior of Monsieur Dorlange, whom I studied carefully, my opinion inclines to his perfect innocence.
Now and then Marie-Gaston received a visit from an old woman who had served his mother; through her the quarterly payment for his schooling was regularly made. That of Dorlange was also made with great punctuality through a banker in Tours.
Dear friend, Last evening, before Maitre Achille Pigoult, notary of this place, the burial of Charles Dorlange took place, that individual issuing to the world, like a butterfly from a grub, under the name and estate of Charles de Sallenauve, son of Francois-Henri-Pantaleon Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve. Here follows the tale of certain facts which preceded this brilliant transformation.
This duel, as you can well believe, has made a great commotion; Monsieur Dorlange has been the hero of the hour for the last two days; it is impossible to enter a single salon without finding him the one topic of conversation. I heard more, perhaps, in the salon of Madame de Montcornet than elsewhere.
I could not possibly pass a night in the dreadful anxiety my son's letter has caused me; he tells me he has been ill since morning in the infirmary." "But," replied Monsieur Dorlange, "surely you are not going alone in a hired carriage to that lonely quarter?" "Lucas will go with me."
This state of things lasted till Dorlange had won the Grand Prix, and started for Rome. Henceforth community of interests was no longer possible. But Dorlange, still receiving an ample income through his mysterious dwarf, bethought himself of making over to Gaston the fifteen hundred francs paid to him by the government for the "prix de Rome."
Without ceasing to be polite, Monsieur Dorlange had an air of disdaining a discussion with the poor boy, so much so that I saw Armand on the point of losing patience and replying sharply.
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