'He is—the man who robbed you of Wanda.'
'He could not rob me of what I never possessed. What grounds have you for calling him by this name?'
'I have reason to believe it.'
'Reason to believe it! You told him that you heard this story from myself.'
'He never denied it.'
'I am not concerned to discuss what he did or did not do. I come here to know on what grounds you employed my name?'
'Egon, I will tell you the truth!'
'Can you?'
'Yes; I can and I will. When I was at Taróc, three summers ago, I saw a fragment of a letter in Sabran's writing. I saw the name of Vassia Kazán. I put this and that together. I heard something from Russia; I sent some people to Mexico. I had always had my suspicions. I do not say I have any positive legal proof, but I am morally convinced that he is no Marquis de Sabran, and that he was born a serf near the city of Kazán. I have charged him with it, and he has as good as confessed it. He was struck dumb with consciousness.'
She watched the face of Vàsàrhely, but it might have been cast in bronze for anything that it told her.