Taking a great stride towards her, the woman in black put her face close to that of the younger woman, and said in a dictatorial tone:—
“You are very beautiful, too beautiful to be good! Who are you?”
Amazed at this address, Audrey could only stammer out an incoherent reply which her visitor did not heed. Staring once more round the room, and then bringing her eyes quickly to bear once again upon her victim, she asked as suddenly as before:—
“Now answer me truly. Is he here?”
“He! Who?” stammered Audrey.
The woman shook her head, as if dismissing the question as childish.
“Because,” she went on, “if he were to know I have come, if he were to know I’ve tried to see my girls, he would murder me, yes, murder me, with as little compunction as if I were the cat!”
“Who do you mean? Who would do this?” cried Audrey, with sudden shrillness.
The woman fixed the great black eyes in another lugubrious stare upon her face:—
“Who? Why, my husband—Eugène.”