[CHAPTER XLIV.]
"Scarcely," answered Carmontelle, dryly, for Eliot Van Zandt seemed to have no words at his command. He could only gaze in horror at the vindictive woman. The former went on curtly, and in tones of calm authority: "We are here, madame, to hear from your own lips the strange story with which you sundered two loving hearts five years ago."
A sneer curled the lips of the handsome, heartless woman.
"You use romantic phrases, monsieur," she said.
"But true ones," he replied.
"Well?"
"We are waiting to hear the story you told Mr. Van Zandt's wife—the story that parted them," he answered again.
She shot a quick, inquiring glance at Eliot's agitated face.
"But you—you are divorced and married again, monsieur, are you not?"