"I cannot give it; I do not know it."
And somehow he believed her as absolutely as even she could desire. If he should yet be fortunate enough to find this elusive Madame, it would have to be through some other agency than these relatives of hers by marriage.
As he passed out, he heard a frightened gasp from somewhere back in the hall. Turning, he asked in the most natural manner whether there were children in the house.
Mrs. Duclos answered with some dignity that she had three daughters.
"You are fortunate, madame," he remarked with his old-fashioned bow. "I live alone. My last grandchild left me a year ago for a man many years my junior."
This brought the little one into his view. She was smiling, and he went away in a state of relief marred by but one regret:
He was as ignorant as ever where to look for the mother of Angeline.