The prison doors were open at length, but only on the death of her parent, and there she was at forty years of age, helpless and friendless, with no knowledge of the world, and nothing to aid her besides her brush and pencil. The struggle was indeed a hard one, and it looked like ending at length when she came in contact with Louis Delahay. She had no strong passion to give him, nothing but the tranquil affection of approaching middle age.
She had been perfectly candid in the matter, and Delahay knew exactly what he had to expect. Perhaps the prospect of tranquil happiness was far better than the rosy dreams of youth. And all this was now shattered by the unexpected tragedy.
Maria Delahay had reached this point in her thoughts; then her mind wandered on to what Lance had recently told her. And so, after all, her sister was alive. This knowledge had not reached Maria Delahay tonight. She had suspected it for some days, and it had come about in quite a prosaic way.
She could see it now quite clearly in her mind. The pleasant-mannered chambermaid had come into the sitting-room soon after Delahay had gone out on that fatal evening. She had evidently taken a liking to her visitor. Maria could see her now as she fussed about the room.
"Is there anything you want?" she asked.
"You seem to have forgotten me," the girl said. "I waited upon you when you were here last spring."
"Last spring!" Mrs. Delahay exclaimed. "Why, surely, you have made a mistake. I have never been here before."
"Oh, madam," the girl said reproachfully, "you are making fun of me. You came here by yourself, and stayed for the best part of a week. You had very few visitors, and you used to talk to me a good deal. . . . Only the name is different. You used to have Carlotta, not Maria, on the envelopes I brought up to you."
Mrs. Delahay started. With difficulty she restrained her feelings, for the chambermaid's innocent words had let a flood of light in a dark place. In the happy old days people were constantly mistaking her for her sister. Was it possible that her sister was still alive? Was it possible that she had been deceived all this time? A little dissimulation might be the means of getting the truth from the voluble chambermaid.
"You have sharp eyes," she said, "and, no doubt, a good memory. How long did I stay here, and where did I go afterwards?"