An Unexpected Discovery

After returning to the room, Forlan let out a small cheer. A hint of a rosy flush appeared on her pale face from the excitement.

"It's so good of you both to come and see me."

"I was originally planning to visit after my lesson this afternoon," Mathilde replied gently. "However, after hearing you were ill, Marie became very anxious and insisted on coming to see you, so we had no choice but to ask for a leave of absence and come together..."

Forlan looked at Marie with delight, then reached out and took her hand. "Marie, you're so good to me!"

The melancholic-faced girl managed to squeeze out a smile. "I'm just glad to see you're alright."

Seeing her friend's demeanor, Forlan wanted to say something but didn't dare. So she had to pretend nothing was amiss and change the subject. "Since you've made the trip to my home today, don't let it be just a sick visit. Please, stay and amuse yourselves for a while..."

"Of course, but it can't be too late. My carriage is waiting, and my family has a curfew. If I return too late, my father will be worried sick," Mathilde replied.

Then, she scanned Forlan's bedroom.

Forlan's bedroom was decorated with a much more feminine touch than those of the old Marquis and Charles. It had a pink carpet and pink bedsheets, with several stuffed dolls on the bed. There were a few large wardrobes, and a mirror hung above a gilded teak dressing table, though there were not many cosmetics on it. What set it apart, however, were the paintings hanging on the walls, works with which the owner was particularly pleased.

Drawn by the paintings, Mathilde walked to the wall to admire the pieces the owner had created over the years.

"The technique in this one is a bit raw, but the mood is quite nice. The sunset has dyed the fields gold, it gives one a comfortable feeling."

"That was painted three years ago. Of course the technique was raw back then," Forlan explained happily from the side.

Mathilde seemed to genuinely appreciate the paintings, examining them one by one as Forlan explained. Marie remained mostly silent, quietly following behind and admiring the art, only interjecting with a few words now and then.

After a little while, Marie suddenly said, "I have something to do, I'll step out for a moment."

Forlan was a bit surprised, but after a moment, she nodded in understanding.

After Marie had left the room and closed the door, Forlan sighed. "Poor Marie!"

"Her feelings are easy to understand. The fact that she can carry on at all is already quite remarkable," Mathilde replied calmly. "What we can do is try our best to console her and help her recover sooner."

"She's probably gone to thank my brother now," Forlan guessed with a smile. "My brother should be able to offer her some guidance."

Brother again! Mathilde thought with a wry smile. Is her brother God? Then again, judging from what had already happened, he did seem to have some ability. He was no common man.

"Let's hope so," she replied serenely.

Then she adopted a more cautious look. "Forlan, there is another important reason I came to see you today."

"What is it?" Forlan was surprised.

"Where is that letter?" Mathilde's expression shifted from its earlier tranquility to one of gravity. "Since it wasn't needed, we should destroy it."

Realization dawning on her, Forlan gave an apologetic smile.

"Oh, look at my memory! Once I get sick, I forget everything! I'll get it for you right now."

Previously, as a contingency, Forlan had asked Mathilde to either persuade her grandfather or, failing that, forge a letter from him. However, the Comte de Dilièron had not wanted to get involved because of his relationship with the Duke de Tréville. It wasn't that he was afraid of the Duke, but they had a long-standing friendship, and the Count was unwilling to jeopardize it over a matter that did not concern him.

Left with no other choice, Mathilde had done something truly audacious—she had forged a letter from her grandfather, preparing to send it to relevant legal figures. In the letter, she, in her grandfather's voice, hinted that they should rule against the Léaurand family's petition.

Technically, this was not difficult at all. Due to his advanced age and busy schedule, His Excellency the Keeper of the Seals had little energy to read every letter, let alone reply. So, this most beloved granddaughter of his had, to some extent, played the role of his secretary, often reading letters to him and drafting formulaic replies to unimportant ones.

Perhaps the Count's arrangement also had the intention of cultivating the younger generation of his family.

Therefore, for Mathilde, forging "a letter from Grandfather" and affixing the Count's personal seal to it was a relatively easy matter.

She had also considered the risks carefully. Her grandfather was a man of high rank and great power; legal professionals would rarely see him in person. Even if they did, who would be so tactless as to bring up such a matter? It was unlikely her deception would be exposed.

And even if it was, she reckoned her grandfather would not punish her too severely. In his eyes, it was not a major affair. At most, he would scold her and confine her to her room for a few days. He had always doted on her.

To think of and then carry out such a plan—the resolve and courage hidden beneath the two young ladies' delicate exteriors was truly something to behold.

After forging the letter, she had a servant deliver it to Forlan, to be sent to a key figure in the event that Charles's efforts were ineffective or fell just short.

As it turned out, the matter had been resolved quite satisfactorily, rendering the letter useless—and now, even a bit of a risk. So, her purpose in coming today was primarily to visit Forlan, but retrieving this letter was also an important objective.

Forlan walked toward her dressing table. As she was still ill, her steps were somewhat unsteady.

She picked up a small box, rummaged through it, and finally pulled out a letter. However, just as she took it out, her hand accidentally brushed against another box nearby. The box fell onto the carpet, scattering all the letters inside across the floor.

"Oh!" Forlan cried out, then turned to smile apologetically at Mathilde before beckoning her over to take the letter.

Mathilde walked over and took the letter. She opened it and saw that it was indeed the one she had forged.

"It's a very good thing we didn't have to use it," she said, relieved.

"Yes, it is!" Forlan agreed, then bent down to pick up the scattered letters.

Mathilde's gaze followed her movement down to the carpet.

"Ah!" she let out a small, sharp gasp of shock.

For there, she saw a letter, an envelope sent from the Dilièron estate.

The de Dilièron family had two types of envelopes. One was for official correspondence or more important formal letters, bearing the family crest on the back—a mermaid wearing a laurel crown intertwined with redbud flowers. The other was for more private correspondence, used on certain occasions, with only a small redbud flower emblem on the back.

And there, in the pile of envelopes on the floor, she had spotted one from her own house.

What is going on? She clearly remembered sending only that one letter to the Tréville house. Who could have written this one? And to Mademoiselle de Tréville, of all people?

Though shocked, her long years of training kept Mathilde from losing her composure. "Where did all these letters come from?" she asked lightly. "Love letters?"

"Of course not!" Forlan's face flushed red, and she immediately refuted the idea. Then she looked at Mathilde cautiously and lowered her voice. "You have to keep this a secret, alright?"

"Hmm?"

"These are all letters that the publisher forwarded to my brother," Forlan whispered. "Like I said before, my brother has written some novels, and he's a bit famous, I suppose. He often gets letters from readers, and the publisher just forwards them all over. So I take them and read them first. If they are supportive or offer reasonable suggestions for improvement, I leave them for my brother. If they need a reply but aren't important, I reply to them myself. And if they are just baseless attacks or curses, I burn them directly, to save him from being in a bad mood..."

"Oh..." Mathilde understood.

"You absolutely must not tell my brother. I'm doing this in secret..." Forlan carefully instructed Mathilde. "I've also begged the servants, and they all keep it from him. To this day, my brother still thinks it's the publisher who screens his reader mail..."

Mathilde understood. She understood completely.

That letter was also one she had written.

For several years now, she had been reading the novels of a certain rising new author. From the initial newspaper serializations to the later full-book publications, she had witnessed the author's entire journey to fame.

Strangely, although the novels were about the court, the author didn't just focus on depicting the flashy court life and boring etiquette. Instead, the focus was more on characterization and destiny. And the characters within were not brainless mannequins, but rather intelligent people of flesh and blood. It was for this very reason that Mathilde had fallen in love with these works.

The author's writing style, calm yet not without passion, perfectly suited her taste. And the poetic melancholy found in the ordinary moments of the stories filled her with admiration.

However, although the author was famous, he (or she) seemed to refuse to appear in public. Not a single reader had ever seen them, and for years, the speculation within her small circle of fans about the author's identity had never reached a consensus.

Furthermore, to encourage the author, discuss the plot, and offer her own suggestions, Mathilde had written to the publisher several times and, through them, had exchanged a few letters with the mysterious author—though whether the replies came from the author themself, only heaven knew.

I never thought... I never thought...

Under the immense shock, even someone as calm as Mathilde couldn't help but be moved.

"Mathilde, what's wrong?" Forlan asked, a little puzzled.

"Oh, it's nothing." Mathilde immediately snapped back to reality, hiding her shock with a smile. "I was just thinking, it's truly admirable how much you do for your brother in secret."

This was also from the heart.

There must be a great many letters forwarded by the publisher. To read them all and then sort and select them... what patience she must have! Mathilde marveled to herself.

"It's not that much work, really..." Forlan smiled, embarrassed. "It was a bit troublesome at first, but after I got used to it, I could decide how to handle a letter in just a few seconds. Even if I have to reply, it's just a few well-practiced, formulaic templates. It's done in a flash... Oh, by the way, didn't I recommend them to you before? Although my brother isn't much of a person, his books are quite interesting. You could take a look... But, for some reason, my brother really dislikes it when people discuss his books with him to his face, so please don't mention it in front of him..."

Will I tell you I've already read them all?

Mathilde smiled faintly. Behind her glasses, her eyes glittered with a peculiar light.

"I think I'll go check on Marie first," she said. "She and your brother should be about finished with their talk by now, don't you think?"