"Yes! About Francis!"
"Surely you are not going to begin again about that foolish matter you spoke of at Marshminster."
"No--it is not about that."
Olivia passed her handkerchief across her lips and gave a sigh of relief. The expression of her face was so strange that I was more than ever convinced she suspected the truth.
"I am glad you have given over that mad idea about Francis being Felix," she said at length. "I cannot conceive what made you take up so strange a belief. Felix is in Paris."
"I know that, Miss Bellin. I saw him there."
This I said in the hope of startling her, but she did not move a muscle of her face. Either she was keeping herself well in hand or was cognizant of the fact that Felix had gone to Paris for the purpose of deceiving me. If so, she must have known he was not Francis, and also that my story of the Lone Inn tragedy was true. It was on my tongue to ask her if she was aware of the terrible truth, but on reflection I judged it best to let events evolve themselves. Fate could manage these things better than a mere mortal.
"I knew you would see him there," she said coldly, "but I cannot conceive why you should desire to convince yourself that I spoke truly."
"Because, Miss Bellin, I believe that the man who calls himself Francis is really Felix."
"The same old story," she said impatiently. "You are mad. If you saw Felix in Paris, you must be convinced that you are making a mistake."