"How did you know that Ballangier was my brother?" I asked Frédérique, when we were alone.
"My dear, have you forgotten that day on the Champs-Élysées? The poor fellow was tipsy, and, while I was trying to quiet him, he involuntarily told me the secret, although I asked him no questions."
A few days after that festivity, Frédérique received a letter, which she read with evident emotion. Then she handed it to me, murmuring:
"See, my dear! you began the work, and Providence has done the rest."
The letter was from Zurich, Switzerland, and contained these words:
"MADAME:
"Monsieur François Dauberny, travelling for pleasure, met his death three days ago on one of our glaciers. The sad event occurred, it is said, while he was pursuing a young Swiss girl, who had refused to listen to him. The papers found upon him give the information that he was your husband."
"Well!" said I, taking Frédérique's hand; "nothing can part us henceforth!"