"I would rather stay," answered Paul, whose reminiscences of the gallery were not of the most pleasant sort.
So Professor Cutter and the young girl left the mosque, and with the guide ascended the dim staircase.
"Papa wrote you the story, did he not?" asked Hermione. "Yes. This is the way they went up."
The professor looked about him curiously, as they followed the guide. Emerging amidst the broad arches of the gallery, they walked forward, and Hermione explained, as Paul had explained to her, what had taken place on that memorable night two years ago. It was a simple matter, and the position of the columns made the story very clear.
"Professor Cutter, I want to speak to you about my aunt," said Hermione, at last. The professor stopped and looked sharply at her, but said nothing. "Do you remember that morning in the conservatory?" she continued. "You told me that she was very mad indeed,—those were your own words. I did not believe it, and I was triumphant when she came out—in—well, quite in her senses, you know. I thought she had recovered,—I hope she has. But she has very queer ways."
"What do you mean by queer ways, Miss Carvel? I have come to Constantinople on purpose to see her. I hope there is nothing wrong?"
"I do not know. But I have told nobody what I am going to tell you. I think you ought to be told. My room is next to hers, at the hotel, and I hear through the door what goes on, without meaning to. The other night I came home late from a ball, and she was walking up and down, talking to herself so loud that I heard several sentences."
"What did she say?" asked Cutter, whose interest was already aroused. The symptom was only too familiar to him.
"She said"—Hermione hesitated before she continued, and the color rose faintly in her cheeks—"she said she wished she could kill Paul—and then"——
"And then what?" inquired the professor, looking at her steadily. "Please tell me all."