She glided up to the drawing-room, feeling at every step as if her knees must yield under her. The young lawyer silently followed her, wondering at the success which had attended his effort to obtain an interview with her.
“Now, sir, may I ask the nature of your business with me?” madam said, when she had closed the door, across which she pulled the silken portière to deaden the sounds from within, for she distrusted all her servants. She advanced to the windows, as the point farthest away from the reach of eavesdroppers, but neither seated herself nor asked her visitor to sit down.
“You may imagine that I have nothing very agreeable to say, judging by the quarter from which I come,” said Frank Amberley.
“You say you come from Captain Desfrayne? What business can you have to transact between Captain Desfrayne and myself?” asked the signora, with an affectation of surprise and curiosity.
“You do not mention the other name.”
“What other name?”
“The name of Leonardo Gilardoni—of your husband, madam.”
The wretched woman’s hand closed on the slender inlaid back of a chair for support. Every vestige of color faded from her face, and her eyes looked haggard for a moment.
“I don’t know whom you mean,” she whispered, rather than said.
“That is a falsehood, madam.”