"That is what comes of a woman stealing in between two men. They become vile at once!—No, I will not try to get the facts of the case from Corancez. And yet—"
Was Corancez stupid? It was impossible to be more mistaken about the wily Southerner. Unfortunately, he was at times too astute. And in the present case, his excessive subtlety made him commit the irreparable fault of definitely enlightening Olivier. For the scruples of this latter were, alas! powerless to withstand the temptation. After all he had thought, in spite of all he felt so clearly, he succumbed to the fatal desire to know. And when, about ten o'clock, he encountered Corancez in one of the rooms of the Casino, he asked him abruptly:—
"Is the Baroness Ely, of whom you spoke in the train, the Madame de Carlsberg I knew in Rome?—She was the wife of an Austrian archduke."
"The very same," responded Corancez, saying inwardly: "Hallo! Hautefeuille has not said anything.—Du Prat knew her in Rome? Heaven grant he has no feeling in that quarter, and that he will not go chattering to Pierre!"
Then, aloud, he said:—
"Why do you ask?"
"For no reason," replied Olivier.
There was a short silence. Then he said:—
"Is not my dear friend Hautefeuille somewhat in love with her?"
"Ah! Now for it," thought the Southerner. "He'll be sure to learn all about it sooner or later. It had better be sooner. It will prevent mistakes."