The drawing was slight, but the likeness was perfect. The face was in profile, and the reproduction of the intelligent features could scarcely have been more lifelike in a careful portrait. Christian replaced the paper in his pocket.
“You remember Carl Trevetz, at Paris,” continued he, “his father belonged to the Austrian Embassy!”
“Yes, I remember him!”
“To-morrow I will send this to him, simply asking who it is.”
“Yes—and then?”
“When the answer comes, Hilda, I will write on the outside of the envelope the name that you will find inside—written by Trevetz.”
For a moment she looked across the table at him with a vague expression of wonder upon her face.
“Even if you are right,” she said, “will it affect us? Will it make us cease to look upon him as a friend?”
“I think so.”
“Then,” she said slowly, “it has come. You remember now?”