"Yes, madame. There can be no settlement until we have proofs of Gaspard's death."
"You are the only heir aside from Gaspard?"
"Yes, madame." The count grew restless under these questions, but circumstances compelled courtesy to this visitor.
"Excuse my interest, Count, but Gaspard was my friend and I knew of his affairs. Did he not leave heirs?" The man replied with gesture in which was mingled every shade of careless contempt that could be expressed.
"There was a woman—a plaything of Gaspard's calling herself his wife—but they parted nearly thirty years ago. He humored her and then sent her back where she came from—America, I believe."
"I am more than ever interested, Count. Gaspard did not impress me as vicious."
"Oh, well, follies of youth, call them. Gaspard was wild; he first left here because of a mock-marriage escapade; when two years after he came back with this little doll we supposed it was another case; at any rate, Gaspard was once drunk enough to boast that she could never prove the marriage." Cambia could restrain herself only with desperate efforts. These were knife blows.
"Were there no heirs?"
"I have never heard. It matters little here. But, madame, you know of Gaspard's death; can you not give me the facts so that I may obtain proofs?" She looked at him steadily.
"I saw him die."