“Simply because he knew that I was an old acquaintance, and he had seen me with her, when she first came from America.”
“How did you ascertain her presence in Paris?”
“Accidentally; one night, at the opera, whither she accompanied Professor V——, I recognized her, and of course 446 made myself known. To what shall I ascribe the honor of this rigid cross-questioning?”
“To reasons which I shall very freely give you. But first, permit me to beg that you will resume your narrative at the point where I interrupted you. I wish to learn all that can be told concerning Mr. Minge.”
“He was an elderly man of ordinary appearance, but extraordinary fortune, and seemed completely fascinated by Salome’s beauty. He offered a large reward to the police for any clew that would enable him to discover her, and finally found the physician whom she had consulted with reference to some disease of the throat, which occasioned the loss of her voice. He had prescribed for her several times, but knew nothing of her lodging-place, as she always called at his office; and finally, without assigning any reason, her visits ceased. Mr. Minge redoubled his exertions, and at last found her in one of the hospitals connected with a convent. The Sisters of Charity informed him that one bleak day when the rain was falling drearily, they chanced to see a woman stagger and drop on the pavement before their door, and, hurrying to her assistance, discovered that she had swooned from exhaustion. A bundle of unfinished needlework was hidden under her shawl, and they soon ascertained that she was delirious from some low typhus fever that had utterly prostrated her. For several weeks she was dangerously ill, and was just able to sit up when Mr. Minge discovered her. He told me that it was distressing and painful beyond expression to witness her humiliation, her wounded pride, her defiant rejection of his renewed offer of marriage. One day he took his sister Constance and a minister of the gospel to the hospital, and implored Salome to become his wife, then and there. He said she wept bitterly, and thanked him, thanked his sister also, but solemnly assured him she could never marry any one,—she would sooner starve in the—”
Dr. Grey raised his hand, signalling for silence, and for some moments he leaned his forehead against the chair directly in front of him.
Mr. Granville cleared his throat several times, and loosened his neck-tie, which seemed to impede his breathing.
“Shall I go on? There is little more to tell.”
“If you please, Granville.”