"Then the man cannot be Henri!"
"Certainly it is he."
"Are they alone together?"
"All alone, like turtle-doves. Madame or mademoiselle eats peaches, throws side glances at Segel, laughs and sings."
"I must see it with my own eyes," said Jacob.
The friends approached the inn, and Jacob soon assured himself that it was Henri, accompanied by an unknown woman with all the fascinations of an opera-dancer.
He was about leaving when Henri Segel saw him, saluted him gayly, and drew near.
"Is that you?" cried he. "You have caught me in flagrante delicti. Poor Mathilde is sick. She returned to Genoa after having accompanied me as far as Nervi. She will remain there quietly for a fortnight. As for myself, I needed distraction, and, by chance, I met an old acquaintance, la Signora Gigante, a French opera-dancer, who is the best of company. Bored and wearied as I am by the monotony of life, I seized this occasion to enjoy myself. One must laugh sometimes. Gigante is as simple-hearted and gay as a child. You have no idea how amusing she is. She has drawn me from the monotony of my existence."
He confessed all this naturally and without embarrassment.
Jacob, stupefied, could hardly believe his ears, and knew not what to reply.