"He left with great secrecy, monsieur the abbé." It was given out that he was merely going to the country."
"What made you suspect he was coming to Mittau?"
"He hired a strong post-chaise and made many preparations."
"But didn't his friend the Marquis du Plessy discover the robbery? Why didn't he follow and take the thief?"
"Dead men don't follow, monsieur the abbé. The Marquis du Plessy had a duel on his hands, and was killed the day after this Lazarre left Paris."
Of all Bellenger's absurd fabrications this story was the most ridiculous. I laughed again. Madame d'Angoulême took her hands from her face and our eyes met one instant, but the idiot whined like a dog. She shuddered, and covered her sight.
The priest turned from Bellenger to me with a fair-minded expression, and inquired,
"What have you to say?"
I had a great deal to say, though the only hearer I expected to convince was my sister. If she believed in me I did not care whether the others believed or not. I was going to begin with Lake George, the mountain, and the fog, and Bellenger's fear of me, and his rage when Louis Philippe told him the larger portion of the money sent from Europe was given to me.
Facing Marie-Therese, therefore, instead of the Abbé Edgeworth, I spoke her name. She looked up once more. And instead of being in Mittau, I was suddenly on a balcony at Versailles!