“What is it?” asked Graff.
“A book—a simple book.”
Marcel took it up, looked at the title, and said—
“Yes, it is a book she has been reading lately.”
“Oh! the book in itself signifies nothing,” said Baudoin. “It had fallen down by the side of the bed nearest the wall. In a hurry of departure she did not see it, and it was left there. But there was something between these leaves.”
Baudoin took between his fingers a piece of paper, and showed it to his masters.
“This envelope, torn in two, and folded to serve as a book-mark. To whom does it belong, if not to the one who has been making use of it? Now on the folded part, there is a line of writing and an address.”
“An address?”
“Look!”
He handed the paper to Marcel, and on the small band, concealed by the folding, the young man read aloud the name: “Madame la Baronne Grodsko.” The bottom of the envelope, on which was doubtless written the street, number and town, had disappeared. On the top, however, a large stamp contained the postmark: “Wien, April 18.”