She was seated before a table, bending over a piece of embroidery. She turned round at the noise of the opening door, and recognized Dixmer.
"Ah! is it you, mon ami?" said she.
"Yes," said Dixmer, with a placid, smiling countenance. "I have received a letter from our friend Maurice, which I cannot understand in the least. Read it, and tell me what you think of it."
Geneviève took the letter with a hand of which (with all her self-command) she could not disguise the tremor, and read. Dixmer followed her eyes as they ran over every line.
"Well?" said he, when she had finished.
"Well! I think that Monsieur Maurice Lindey is an honest man, and from him we have nothing to fear," replied Geneviève, with the greatest calmness.
"You think he is ignorant who the persons are you visited at Auteuil?"
"I am certain that he is."
"Why then this sudden determination? Did he appear yesterday less friendly or more excited than usual?"
"No," said Geneviève; "I believe he was just the same."