"Suffer me, in the first place, to ask you for a pocket book you are instructed to give me."
"Not so—I have nothing of the kind."
"Very well. That is the language you should use. It is thrown away on me, however, for I am the Count de Saint Germain."
"That makes no difference."
"If I were to take off my mask, you would not know me, never having seen my features except in the dark. Here, however, is my letter of credit."
The red domino gave Consuelo a sheet of music, on which was written a testimonial she could not mistake. She gave him the pocket book, not without trembling, and took care to add, "Take notice of what I have said, I am charged with no message for you; I alone send these letters and funds to the person you know of."
"Then you are Trenck's mistress?"
Terrified at the painful falsehood required from her, Consuelo was silent.
"Tell me, madame," said the red domino; "the baron does not deny that he receives letters and aid from a person who loves him. Are you his mistress?"
"I am that person," said Consuelo, "and I am as much wounded as I am surprised at your questions. Cannot I be the baron's friend, without exposing myself to the brutal expressions and outrageous suspicions you dare to use to me?"