"And I think we have good reason to hope. In the first place, if Michel and Florence loved each other,—it is useless to mince words,—if they were lovers, there is nothing to prevent them from living as man and wife in some quiet country village, or even here in Paris, the place of all others in which one can live in seclusion, and according to one's liking."
"But these adjoining apartments, is it not more than likely that they communicate with each other?"
"But what possible object could there be in this secrecy,—these precautions so utterly foreign to Michel's and Florence's character?"
"Why, to prevent scandal, madame."
"But if they changed their names and declared themselves man and wife, how could there be any scandal? Who would discover the truth? Who would have any interest in ferreting it out?"
"Why, sooner or later, you or I, madame."
"All the more reason that they would have changed their names if they had felt that they had anything to fear, for so long as they kept their names, was it not comparatively easy to find out their whereabouts, as we have discovered for ourselves? Besides, monsieur, if they had wished to conceal themselves effectually, couldn't they have done it just as easily as they have managed to conceal the greater part of their existence,—for they spend most of the time away from home, you know."
"And it is that very thing that puzzles me so! Where do they spend this time? Where were they going this morning? Florence, who could seldom be induced to leave her bed by noon, has been getting up before four o'clock in the morning for four years. Think of it!"
"And Michel, too. It is certainly astonishing."
"To what can we attribute this change?"