“You?”
Lowering his voice; for he knew that at the Hotel des Folies there was always to fear some indiscreet ear.
“Yes, I,” he answered; “and for the reason that yesterday, when M. de Tregars appeared in my mother’s parlor, I could not suppress an exclamation of surprise, for the reason, Lucienne, that, between Marius de Tregars and yourself, there is a resemblance with which it is impossible not to be struck.”
Mlle. Lucienne had become very pale.
“What do you suppose, then?” she asked.
“I believe, my friend, that we are very near penetrating at once the mystery of your birth and the secret of the hatred that has pursued you since the day when you first set your foot in M. de Thaller’s house.”
Admirably self-possessed as Mlle. Lucienne usually was, the quivering of her lips betrayed at this moment the intensity of her emotion.
After more than a minute of profound meditation,
“The commissary of police,” she said, “has never told me his hopes, except in vague terms. He has told me enough, however, to make me think that he has already had suspicions similar to yours.”
“Of course! Would he otherwise have questioned me on the subject of M. de Tregars?”