"What is this person to you—a relative, sister?"
"She is my wife."
"Lorenza Feliciani, wife of Count Fenix!" said the abbess, raising her voice so as to be heard in the inner room. "No Countess Fenix is in St. Denis Abbey," she dryly added.
"It may be," said the count, who was not yet acknowledging his defeat, "that your highness is not persuaded that Lorenza and Countess Fenix are the same person. Kindly give the order that Lorenza shall be brought before you, and all doubt will cease. I ask pardon for being so persistent, but I am tenderly attached to this wife of mine, and I believe she is sorry we are separated, poor as is my merit."
"Ah!" thought the princess, "Lorenza spoke the truth, for this man is highly dangerous."
The count stood with a calm bearing, strictly according to court etiquette.
"I must prevaricate," thought Princess Louise, before she said: "My lord, I am not in the position to restore a wife who is not here. I understand your seeking her with such persistency, if you love her as dearly as you say; but you will have to seek elsewhere if you want success."
On entering, the count had glanced round the closet, and his gaze had caught a reflection, however slight, of the jewels placed by Lorenza on the little table in the darkest corner. By the sparkling Fenix recognized them.
"If your royal highness would kindly collect your memory, though I have to ask her to do such violence—it will be recalled that Lorenza Feliciani was here, for she laid those jewels on yonder table before she retired into the next room."