'Yes; and look at the white-faced craven. He does not deny it. Listen, Miss Ellinor, though what has brought him here I know not. No good, you maybe assured. I was waiting-maid to Lady Dunkeld in Paris when he and I became acquainted on the Boulevards, and he married me under the name of Redmond.'
'You married me, you mean, or thought you did, you artful and accursed Jezebel,' exclaimed Sleath, choking with rage.
'Oh, what is all this I hear?' moaned Ellinor, overwhelmed with horror, dismay, and humiliation.
'The bitter truth, young lady,' said Mrs. Fubsby, beginning partly to take in the situation.
'You have no proofs now of what you say, you infernal Jezebel, who in your maturer years entrapped me in my boyhood!' thundered Sleath.
'No proofs!'
'No—the old devil-dodger—the curé who performed the ceremony, as I suppose you will call it, was shot in the days of the Commune.'
'True, but the records of his chapel still exist.'
'What is all this to me?'
'You will soon learn to your cost, now that I have discovered you under your true name.'