“I know you are Jérôme Fandor, sir; I know it, and I need only know that! I decline to understand the allusions you have made. But if you beseech the Grand Duchess Alexandra to go to Elisabeth Dollon, the grand duchess is verily too much your friend, too well persuaded of the depth of your love for Mlle. Dollon, to refuse the boon you ask of her.”
“Oh! madam,”—and Fandor, with a quick almost instinctive movement, seized Lady Beltham’s white, ungloved hand. But the great lady drew back, manifestly she could not prolong for ever her talk with this masquer, this “Fantômas.” None had come to disturb them, but their conversation was bound to have attracted notice; the place was lined with mirrors, they were at the mercy of every chance reflection.
“Where can I see Elisabeth Dollon?” asked the grand duchess.
“The poor girl,” replied the other, “in spite of her enemies, still lives an honest, hard-working life; I know—I learnt this only a day or two ago—she is engaged as cashier, I think at one of the restaurants in the Bois, the restaurant on the island in the lake.”
Lady Beltham had already risen and was moving away when she threw these words by way of adieu to the young man:
“By all I hold most sacred, sir, I swear that Elisabeth Dollon, no later than to-morrow evening, shall know that Jérôme Fandor is worthy of her love.”
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Fantômas!”
“You mean?”
“I mean to say that costume is heavy for your shoulders.”
After Lady Beltham’s departure, Jérôme Fandor had stayed behind in the conservatory, motionless, wrapt in absorption. The great lady’s promise had given him the wildest hopes. If the grand duchess saw fit to convince Elisabeth Dollon of his innocence, it was easy enough for her to do so; if she kept her promise, and Jérôme Fandor never doubted she would, a happy future, a future of love lay before him! But as he was thinking these rosy thoughts, plunged in an ecstasy of anticipation a disquieting incident befell.