"And speaking of Paul Valmain," he went on, a menacing note creeping into his tones, "I have been talking to Hector again this afternoon about that night—the night that Valmain said he saw you enter the house."
She looked at him quickly. Surely, after what she had said to Hector, Hector had not dared to speak of the girl to whom he had given—reprehensibly, she had taken pains to make Hector understand—a key to Jean's studio. She believed she had frightened Hector and Madame Mi-mi too thoroughly for that, and yet—if he had!
"Well?"—serenely, as her eyebrows went up.
"Nothing! He knows nothing! He heard nothing!" Jean flung out impatiently. "But Hector is a fool, and Valmain said he saw you go in."
"Well, was I there?" she inquired frigidly.
"No, you were not there—naturally!" he asserted with wrathful finality. "But—I have been thinking—if it were some one else!"
"Ah!" Myrna's smile was cold, as she rose with a curiously ominous air from her chair. "Ah! Some one else! Well, since you bring up the subject again, do you imagine I am so stupid that such a possibility has not also occurred to me? Your conscience seems to trouble you, Monsieur Jean! If there was some one else—a woman in your rooms from two o'clock at night until daylight—you should know better who it was, I imagine, than either Hector or Madame Mi-mi! And since I am your fiancée, Monsieur Jean—perhaps you will explain!"
"But, sacre nom d'un diable!" Jean shouted in angry amazement. "I know of no woman!"
"If there was a woman there it is inconceivable that you should not know it"—Myrna's voice was monotonous, relentless.
"But, I tell you—no!"—Jean's hands went up in the air, as he raged in exasperation. "Do you understand, that I tell you—no? It is not so! There was no woman there!"