"She does not know I have left Constantinople, then?"
"No. I feared that the news would have a bad effect. She receives her letters, of course, but telegrams often do harm to people in her state,—so I naturally opened yours."
"Is she perfectly sane in all other respects?" asked Paul, speaking with an effort.
"Perfectly."
"Then she is not insane at all," said Paul, in a tone of conviction.
"I do not understand you," answered the professor, staring at him in some surprise.
"If you knew how she loved my poor brother, and how little she loves me, you would understand better. Without being insane, she might well believe that I had let him lose himself in Stamboul, or even that I had killed him. You read my letter,—you can remember how strange a story it was. There is nothing but the evidence of a Turkish soldier to show that I did not contribute to Alexander's disappearance."
"It was certainly a very queer story," said the professor gravely. "Nevertheless, I am of opinion that Madame Patoff is under the influence of a delusion. I cannot think that if she were in her right mind she would insist as she does, and with such violence, that you are guilty of making away with your brother."
"I must see her," said Paul firmly. "I have come from Constantinople to see her, and I cannot go back disappointed."
"I think it would be a great mistake for you to seek an interview," answered the professor, no less decidedly. "It might bring on a fit of anger."