"Yes, the letter to which allusion is made."
Elizabeth blushed as if she had been discovered, and felt obliged to give an explanation:
"It is a telegraphed letter. During Albert's absence, at his request, I opened all telegrams to inform him of their contents, but never letters. He had asked me to do this for him ever since we were first married. It is true that for a time I had not done so. That day he was impatiently waiting for some proofs which did not come. He had gone out. I was to telephone to him if they came. I thought that the telegram referred to them—it was chance. That was how I came to know—"
She wished to convey the impression that she did not watch over her husband's correspondence and that all spying would have been unworthy of her. By the expression of her face, even more than by her words, one would know that she was incapable of such a rôle. As a result of this attitude of loyalty, her youth assumed a more direct charm.
"Will you show me that letter?" asked Philippe, who, prompted by curiosity or sympathy, was going somewhat beyond his mission.
"But ... why?"
"I shall read it sooner or later. If you will tell me what is in it, I shall be the only one to pay any attention to its contents before the case comes up. Otherwise, it will lie about in lawyers' offices. I have come here as a peace-maker, not as a lawyer. I remember our friendly relations. And if circumstances condemn Albert unreservedly, I shall request him to select other counsel."
"No," replied Elizabeth, touched. "You are his friend; it is right that you should defend him. You have already begun to do so. When you came in I was preparing to send you this letter. The lawyers have twice requested me to show it to them. Now I have no more secrets; my life is exposed to the public—it is all the same to me. I will go and get the letter for you."
But it was the life of another that she was exposing. During her absence, Mme. Molay-Norrois confided to Philippe that she wished to take her daughter away to Uriage as soon as possible, since the mere prospect of the trial depressed her, and the children needed to be in the country. When he asked for the little girl and for his godson, her unfriendly expression changed, and her face was lit up by one of those kind grand-motherly smiles, which, as a result of much association with children, restored a little of her confident simplicity.
"Here, read it quickly," said Elizabeth, handing him an envelope which her fingers scarcely held, as if they were in contact with a flaming torch.