"Oh!" exclaimed Michel involuntarily; his heart sank. "Let us be just to her," he murmured; "who knows, she may have had some good reason of which we know nothing, this Nadejda; her lover, maybe, went to the war and she could not bear to be parted."
"That would perhaps excuse her to a certain extent," said Henri wearily. He was not in the least interested in the conversation.
In despair, Louise tried another tack. She had determined to come to an understanding this day, nothing could be done without risk.
"D'Estreville—will you promise not to be angry if I make a communication to you—it is about Louise Dupré?"
Henri was all attention in a moment.
"About Louise?" he repeated. "What can you have to say about her—and why should I be angry? I wish you to talk of her."
"It may be different this time. I shall hope that you will not be angry. You may have observed, my friend, that when you told me your story a few days since I was greatly astounded to hear of her death, Louise Dupré's death."
"Naturally, I hope you were shocked, if only for the sake of your friend, who loved her."
"Monsieur, prepare yourself for a surprise greater than my own. You have been deceived."
"Deceived?" Henri started from his chair. "How deceived, by whom?"