"That is a long story; but he did; we were bohemians in Paris. I am heir to his interests in these mines, but I care little for that—very little. I am independent. My husband's violin is my one wish now." The realization of how completely he had been trapped betrayed the forced courtesy of the man.
"You married him. I presume you ascertained that the American wife was dead?"
"You have informed me that the American was not his wife."
"But she was, and if she is living to-day madame's claims are very slender."
"You speak positively!"
"I do. I saw the proofs. We should not have given the girl any recognition without them, knowing Gaspard's former escapade."
"Then," said the woman, her face lighting up with a sudden joy, and growing stern again instantly, "then you lied just now, you cowardly hound."
"Madame." The count had retreated behind a chair and looked anxiously at the bell, but she was in the way.
"You lied, sir, I say. I am the wife, and now the widow, of Gaspard Levigne, but not a second wife. I am that 'plaything,' as you called her, the American, armed now with a knowledge of my rights and your treachery. You may well shiver and grow pale, sir; I am no longer the trembling child you terrified with brutality, but a woman who could buy your family with its mines thrown in, and not suffer because of the bad investment. From this room, upon the information you have given, I go to put my case in the hands of lawyers and establish my claim. It is not share and share in this country; my husband was the first born, and I am his heir!"
"My God!"