"But the fact that you have changed your room shows that you feared some one would attack you. Whom had you in mind? An enemy living in the house? One of your servants? Or people from the outside? In that case, how could they get in? The whole question lies in that."
"To-morrow, to-morrow," replied Fauville, obstinately. "I will explain everything to-morrow—"
"Why not to-night?" Perenna persisted.
"Because I want proofs, I tell you; because the mere fact of my talking may have terrible consequences—and I am frightened; yes, I'm frightened—"
He was trembling, in fact, and looked so wretched and terrified that Don
Luis insisted no longer.
"Very well," he said, "I will only ask your permission, for my comrade and myself, to spend the night where we can hear you if you call."
"As you please, Monsieur. Perhaps, after all, that will be best."
At that moment one of the servants knocked and came in to say that his mistress wished to see the master before she went out. Madame Fauville entered almost immediately. She bowed pleasantly as Perenna and Mazeroux rose from their chairs.
She was a woman between thirty and thirty-five, a woman of a bright and smiling beauty, which she owed to her blue eyes, to her wavy hair, to all the charm of her rather vapid but amiable and very pretty face. She wore a long, figured-silk cloak over an evening dress that showed her fine shoulders.
Her husband said, in surprise