“Do you mean to say the stones are—are——”
“Well matched, Madame. In fact, some of them came from this establishment. It was made by M. Leduc, a friend of mine, and I assisted him.”
“Thank you,” replied Léontine, forcing herself to be calm, reclasping the necklace round her throat and covering it up. She went out, got into the cab again, and hesitated before giving her order. She was in truth quite dazed and mystified. The man had touched his hat three times, when she said, with an air of quiet determination:
“To the St. Lazare station.”
Yes, she would that very moment go and confess all to Victor. Her resolution seemed an inspiration. There was some mystery about the necklace, and it was only fair that Victor should know it. There should be no more concealments between them. She reached the station just in time to miss the eight o’clock train. It was still daylight, and she waited for the next—a very slow one. Half-way to Melun the engine broke down. It was nearly eleven o’clock before she found herself in front of the huge old barrack building in which de Meneval had his quarters.
The orderly who took the place of concierge at once recognized her and politely escorted her to Captain de Meneval’s door.
“I do not think Monsieur le Capitaine is in at present,” he said; “but if Madame will wait, he will no doubt be here shortly.” And he knocked loudly at the door.
It was opened by a soldier—de Meneval’s servant—whom Léontine had never seen before. The man’s unfamiliar face, and the unlooked-for sight that met her eyes as soon as she stepped over the threshold, made her turn as if to go out. In the middle of the room was spread a table, with preparations for an elaborate supper; and Léontine’s quick eye discovered that ladies were expected, for to three huge bouquets were appended cards with names written on them. “For the Sprightly Aglaia,” “For Olga, the Queen of the Dance;” “For Louise of the Fairy Foot.”
Léontine, slightly embarrassed, said to the soldier: