"Oh, surely; on the cliffs just above the town—the first house—you cannot miss it—buried in a grove of trees. He married the daughter of Madame Alix some years ago—he was from Paris."
"And his wife is living?"
"Oh, surely, she is living; she herself returned from America but three weeks ago, together with her mother and sister. The sister, they say, is—well——" and he finished with a significant gesture toward his head.
I saw my companion's face turn white—I steadied myself with an effort. I knew that, at last, the veil was to be lifted.
"And they are at home now?"
"I believe so," said the notary, eying him with more and more astonishment. "They have been keeping close at home since their return—they will permit no one to see the—invalid. There has been much talk about it."
"Come, we must go!" I cried. "He must not get there before us!"
But a sudden light gleamed in the notary's eyes.
"Wait, messieurs!" he cried. "A moment. But a moment. Ah, I remember it now—it was the link which was wanting, and you have supplied it—Holladay, a millionaire of America, his wife, Madame Alix—she did not live in the villa, then, messieurs. Oh, no; she was very poor, a nurse—anything to make a little money; her husband, who was a fisherman, was drowned, and left her to take care of the children as best she could. Ah, I remember—one a mere baby!"
He had got down another book, and was running his finger rapidly down the page—his finger all a-tremble with excitement. Suddenly, he stopped with a little cry of triumph.