"My second demand is that you produce the real will, signed by Don Tomaso Crivelli, in which he leaves the whole of his estate to his only and legitimate son, Paul Crivelli, known in this city as Paul Lisimon."
Again the lawyer bent his head.
"In conjunction with Don Juan Moraquitos, you will restore to this young man the wealth of his father, which you divided into equal portions soon after Don Tomaso's death. You will find no difficulty with Juan Moraquitos. Pirate and adventurer as he has been, he is not so fortunate as you. He has still a conscience."
"Is that all?" gasped the lawyer.
"It is. I think we understand each other a little better now than we did half an hour ago. Good night."
She left the room before he could reply, and before he could summon the negro to usher her from the house.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when Pauline Corsi left the lawyer's office, but the streets were lighted brilliantly by the full moon which sailed high in the heavens. The Frenchwoman drew her veil closely over her face. She was dressed in dark garments, which shielded her from observation, and she hurried rapidly through the lonely streets.
About half way toward her destination she met two men walking side by side, smoking cigars.
Suddenly she stopped, and, clasping her hand upon her heart, looked eagerly at the younger of these two men.
"It cannot be," she murmured; "it cannot be. It is the moonlight which deceives me."