“His sister? How do you know?”
“I know what he will tell you on his return.”
“But why?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe him if he said she was his mother.”
Following the carriage with their glance, they wandered on in the direction it had taken. And in the carriage Aline was considering Andre-Louis with grave eyes, lips slightly compressed, and a tiny frown between her finely drawn eyebrows.
“You have taken to queer company, Andre,” was the first thing she said to him. “Or else I am mistaken in thinking that your companion was Mlle. Binet of the Theatre Feydau.”
“You are not mistaken. But I had not imagined Mlle. Binet so famous already.”
“Oh, as to that...” mademoiselle shrugged, her tone quietly scornful. And she explained. “It is simply that I was at the play last night. I thought I recognized her.”
“You were at the Feydau last night? And I never saw you!”
“Were you there, too?”