“Ah! your father dwelt a long time in India!” exclaimed the Marquis, as if struck by a sudden idea. “Is it possible, then, that I could have encountered your mother in England? But, no—that woman could not have been the parent of such a lovely, charming creature as yourself!”
“To whom do you allude, my lord?” demanded Laura, now seized with the apprehension that her mother might be known to the wealthy lover whom she had succeeded in ensnaring, and whom she intended to fleece of the greater portion of his fortune.
“It was but a momentary thought—it exists no longer in my mind, dearest,” responded the nobleman, who, as he gazed upon the bright and splendid being before him, felt an ineffable disgust at having even for an instant associated her in any way with the loathsome old hag to whom he was alluding. “The fact is,” he continued, “I met a certain female in London—or rather, in the neighbourhood of London—a short time ago—indeed, just before I left England; and this woman bore the name of Mortimer.”
“It is not altogether an uncommon one,” observed Laura, maintaining an unruffled countenance, though her heart palpitated with continued apprehension.
“The singularity of the coincidence is that the female to whom I am alluding announces herself as the widow of a General-officer who had died in India,” resumed the Marquis.
“My lamented father was a merchant,” said Laura.
“Then of course there can be no identity in that case,” continued the nobleman. “Besides, having an intimate acquaintance with all military matters—as I myself held the post of Secretary at War many years ago, and have since taken a deep interest in that department—I am enabled to state that no General-officer of the name of Mortimer has recently died in India.”
“The woman, then, of whom you am speaking, was an impostress?” said Laura, interrogatively.
“I have little doubt of it,” answered the marquis. “But let us not dwell upon a subject so perfectly indifferent to us. We were talking of our plans. Will it suit you, dearest Laura, to quit Paris to-morrow, or the day after at latest?”
“To-morrow, if you will,” the young woman hastened to reply: for she now trembled lest her mother should suddenly return and perhaps prove, though unintentionally, a marplot to all the plans which her intriguing disposition had conceived.