An inquiry resulted in proving the fear to be correct. Another inquiry elicited the fact that he lived a mile and a half away across some fields.
In no very enviable frame of mind, Captain Desfrayne returned to his waiting fly, to continue his broken journey to the barracks.
“Did you find her, sur?” asked the flyman.
The young man shook his head, too much dejected, and even physically exhausted, to be able to otherwise reply.
At length he reached his quarters, when he dismissed the vehicle in which he had come. To-morrow he meant to seek once again for evidence as to whether the lady dressed in black had been seen by any other than himself.
His rooms seemed strangely silent as he approached them. Gilardoni had hitherto contrived to make his presence cheerful, and always had a reality as well as words of welcome for his master. A bright glow of pleasant light, gleaming through doors ajar, a slight movement of ever-busy feet or hands, had given under his influence a faint tinge of home.
The door of the first room was ajar, though scarce perceptibly so. A dim ray of light struggled through, as if seeking to disclose some ghastly secret. A silence as of the grave reigned. Apparently not a living creature was within the apartments.
Paul Desfrayne paused for a minute or two before entering. A strange, painful foreboding seized him. What he feared he dared not admit to himself.
What if that woman—Lucia Guiscardini—had come hither with some sinister motive, and had slain her husband in one of her almost ungovernable fits of passion?
But no, it could not be. What end could she hope to gain? She valued her own safety, her own ease; she prized this beautiful and splendid world too highly to let her temper carry her to such a dangerous extreme.