La Montagne, paying no attention to the others, gazed intently at Marian.
“The man’s name, madame,” he demanded impetuously. “Give us his name.”
“Count Fritz von Eltz,” responded Marian. An oath escaped La Montagne while Mrs. Burnham collapsed on a chair.
“Marian—you don’t mean—your husband?” she gasped.
Marian’s face was like marble. “I do,” she said. “He was my divorced husband; the courts permitted me to resume my maiden name. I never knew he was in this country until this morning.”
“I was not sure he was in Washington,” volunteered La Montagne. “But I had heard, no matter how, that he had come to America. Ours was a quarrel of long standing, gentlemen; frankly, had I met him I would have killed him at sight.”
“Hush, René!” and impulsively Evelyn clapped her hand to his lips.
“Non, non, mon coeur; it is best I tell these gentlemen of my animosity to Von Eltz. He was a reptile; no crime was too revolting for his infernal cunning to undertake. The world is better without him.”
“Was he a German spy?” asked Mitchell.
“But of course, monsieur.” La Montagne laughed at the question. “Pouf! why waste time discussing his death? Let us congratulate ourselves and this fortunate lady in being free of him,” and he bowed low to Marian.