Mme. Fauville entered as he was speaking. Her face remained charming and pretty in spite of the tears that had reddened her eyelids and impaired the freshness of her cheeks. But her eyes expressed the scare of terror; and the obsession of the tragedy imparted to all her attractive personality, to her gait and to her movements, something feverish and spasmodic that was painful to look upon.
"Pray sit down, Madame," said the Prefect, speaking with the height of deference, "and forgive me for inflicting any additional emotion upon you. But time is precious; and we must do everything to make sure that the two victims whose loss you are mourning shall be avenged without delay."
Tears were still streaming from her beautiful eyes; and, with a sob, she stammered:
"If the police need me, Monsieur le Préfet—"
"Yes, it is a question of obtaining a few particulars. Your husband's mother is dead, is she not?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet."
"Am I correct in saying that she came from Saint-Etienne and that her maiden name was Roussel?"
"Yes."
"Elizabeth Roussel?"
"Yes."