“For Gilbert.”
At this name Oliva trembled.
“Ah, mon Dieu!” she cried. “How do you know?” Then with, a sigh said, “Oh, sir! you have pronounced a name indeed fertile in remembrances. You knew Gilbert?”
“Yes; since I speak to you of him.”
“Alas!”
“A charming lad, upon my word. You loved him?”
“He was handsome. No, perhaps not; but I thought him so; he was full of mind, my equal in birth, but Gilbert thought no woman his equal.”
“Not even Mademoiselle de Ta——”
“Oh, I know whom you mean, sir. You are well instructed. Yes, Gilbert loved higher than the poor Nicole: you are possessed of terrible secrets, sir; tell me, if you can,” she continued, looking earnestly at him, “what has become of him?”
“You should know best.”