"Yes, madame."
"Did you know her?"
"I have known her ever since I can remember."
"The Marquise de Ferrier! But, M's'r Williams, did she know you?"
"She knows me," I asserted. "But not as myself. I am sure she knows me! But she confuses me with the child she lost! I cannot explain to you, madame, how positive I am that she recognizes me; any more than I can explain why she will call me Paul. I think I ought to tell you, so you will see the position in which I am placed, that this lady is the lady I once hoped to marry."
"Saints have pity, M's'r Williams!"
"I want to ask you some questions."
"Bring her down to the fire. Come, dear child," said Madame Ursule, coaxing Eagle. "Nobody is there. The bedrooms can never be so warm as the log fire; and this is a bitter evening."
The family room was unlighted by candles, as often happened. For such an illumination in the chimney must have quenched any paler glare. We had a few moments of brief privacy from the swarming life which constantly passed in and out.
I placed Eagle by the fire and she sat there obediently, while I talked to Madame Ursule apart.