The Countess had hurled herself out of her chambers, her calls for her son echoing all around. Her husband had followed her, showing deep concern himself, as the child would usually return to his mother as soon as he was done playing.
The cries of the countess soon had set the castle a buzz. The domestic staff rushed about. None of them had seen the young Armand since his mother had left him on the balcony.
They scoured the castle, the garden, the grounds. The child was nowhere to be found.
Two hours passed in these fruitless searches The Countess, distraught, twisted her hands in inspiration, her piercing eye seeming to want to cut deep into the heart of Felipone, whom she already regarded as the murderer of her son, sensing what he had done.
But the Italian played well that he was profoundly afflicted, he was in voice and gesture seen to be in a great amount of naive despair and astonishment. That brought up in the mother, one more time, confirmation of the insurmountable aversion she felt for her husband and for her accusation against him in the disappearance of her son.
Suddenly a servant arrived holding in their hand the small white plumed hat of the child that had fallen from his head down to the base below the balcony in his sleep.
“Oh! The unfortunate boy!” Exclaimed Felipone in a tone the poor mother detested “he must have climbed the railing…”
But at the moment when the Countess recoiled in terror at the Count’s words and at the site of the object that seemed to confirm the sinister truth, a man appeared at the threshold of the room where the couple had found themselves. And, at the sight of this man, the Count Felipone reared back, struck dumb and becoming livid.
D. Cartier 