"You shall have it—you shall have it; I will write you a check for it immediately," said Monsieur Correlli. "But—you are sure there is no one in the house who knows anything about the facts of the case?" he added, inquiringly, after a moment of thought.
"Yes, I am sure; I haven't a single servant now that was with me when the girl was here."
"Have you any idea where they went after leaving you?" asked the man, with evident uneasiness.
"Lor', no; you needn't have the slightest fear of their turning up," responded his companion, with a light laugh. "That lawyer might as well try to hunt for a needle in a hay-mow as to seek them as witnesses against you; while, as for the lodgers who were here at the time, not one of them knew anything about your affairs. By the way," she added, curiously, "what has become of the girl?"
"She followed me to Boston, and is there now, doubtless."
"Would she be likely to know anything about the laws of New York regarding marriage?"
"No, indeed; she is a perfect ignoramus as far as any knowledge of the customs of this country is concerned."
"That is lucky for you; but, if you know where she can be found, I would advise you to send her back to Italy with all possible dispatch. She is liable to make trouble for you if she learns the truth, for"—madam here shot a sly look at her companion—"a man can't live a year or two with a woman here in New York, allowing her to believe herself his wife, and her child to call him 'papa'—paying all her bills, without giving her a pretty strong claim upon him. However, mum's the word with me, provided I get my pay for it," she concluded, with a knowing wink.
Emil Correlli frowned at her coarse familiarity and the indirect threat implied in her last words; but, simply remarking that he "would draw that check," he returned to the room whence he had come, while his companion turned to a window, chuckling softly to herself.
Presently he reappeared and slipped into her hand a check for five hundred dollars.