“But who could have betrayed you to your husband?” asked the actor.
“It was Frantz! I am sure it was Frantz. He wouldn’t have believed it from anybody else. Only last evening a letter came from Egypt. Oh! how he treated me before that woman! To force me to kneel! But I’ll be revenged. Luckily I took something to revenge myself with before I came away.”
And the smile of former days played about the corners of her pale lips.
The old strolling player listened to it all with deep interest. Notwithstanding his compassion for that poor devil of a Risler, and for Sidonie herself, for that matter, who seemed to him, in theatrical parlance, “a beautiful culprit,” he could not help viewing the affair from a purely scenic standpoint, and finally cried out, carried away by his hobby:
“What a first-class situation for a fifth act!”
She did not bear him. Absorbed by some evil thought, which made her smile in anticipation, she stretched out to the fire her dainty shoes, saturated with snow, and her openwork stockings.
“Well, what do you propose to do now?” Delobelle asked after a pause.
“Stay here till daylight and get a little rest. Then I will see.”
“I have no bed to offer you, my poor girl. Mamma Delobelle has gone to bed.”
“Don’t you worry about me, my dear Delobelle. I’ll sleep in that armchair. I won’t be in your way, I tell you!”