Mme de Créspigny had been looking attentively at Aline. "Now I know who the girl is," she said. "It is the girl who disappeared, who was supposed to have been massacred. I saw her at Laure de Montargis' reception the day of the arrests, and I remember her now. Ah! that poor Laure——"
She shuddered faintly. De Lancy became interested.
"But she accompanied her cousin to La Force and perished there."
"She must have escaped. I am sure it is she. She had that way of holding her head—like a stag—proud and timid."
"It was one of her mother's attractions," said the Comtesse. "Mlle Desmond was, however, a great deal more beautiful. Her daughter, if this girl is her daughter, has only that trick, and the eyes—yes, she has the lovely eyes," as Aline turned her head and looked in their direction. "M. de Lancy, do me the favour of conducting her here, and presenting her to me."
The little old dandy clicked away on his high heels, and in a moment Mademoiselle was aware of a truly courtly bow, whilst a thin, shaky voice said gallantly:
"We rejoice to welcome Mademoiselle to our society."
She curtsied—a graceful action—and Madame de Matigny watching, nodded twice complacently. "Bourgeoise indeed!" she murmured, and pressed her lips together.
"You are too good, Monsieur," said Mademoiselle.
Only four words, but the voice—the composure.