"He is an impostor, of course," murmured the Marquise d'Esclignac. "Come here, Mimi."
Tremont went on:
"Further he will not disclose to us. He has evidently some carefully laid plan for rescuing Sabron."
There was a pause. Hammet Abou, his hands folded peacefully across his breast, waited. Julia Redmond waited. The Comtesse de la Maine, in her pretty voice, asked quickly:
"But, mes amis, there is a man's life at stake! Why do we stand here talking in the antechamber? Evidently the war office has done all it can for the Capitaine de Sabron. But they have not found him. Whether this fellow is crazy or not, he has a wonderful hypothesis."
A brilliant look of gratitude crossed Julia Redmond's face. She glanced at the Comtesse de la Maine.
"Ah, she's got the heart!" she said to herself. "I knew it." She crossed the hall to the Comtesse de la Maine and slipped her arm in hers.
"Has Monsieur de Sabron no near family?"
"No," said the Marquise d'Esclignac from her throne. "He is one of those unfamilied beings who, when they are once taken into other hearts are all the dearer because of their orphaned state."
Her tone was not unkind. It was affectionate.