‘Does he know you are here, madame?’
Jane Peartree started nervously; then, smiling sadly at her own terror, shook her head.
‘God forbid!’
‘And you are really his wife, madame?’
‘Yes.’
Adèle walked to the window thoughtfully, and stood there continuing the conversation.
‘It must be so dreadful,’ she said, ‘for husband and wife to part. I was never married, madame, but I understand. A little time ago I was reading in an English newspaper, of an English merchant, a rich man, whose wife left him suddenly, and no one knew why. She had been an actress in the theatre, and he had fallen in love with her upon the stage. Then, owing to some disagreement, she ran away.’
Fortunately, Adèle was not looking at her companion; otherwise she would have been startled by the change that had come over her. Leaning back in her invalid chair, with the last trace of colour faded from her cheek, and her form trembling violently, she murmured, in a voice of forced composure—
‘Yes;—and did she return?’
‘Ah, no, madame. The lady drowned herself that very night, and the body was afterwards found in the Morgue, at the police station, and identified by her husband. It was the account of the inquest which I read in the journals. Though the body had been long in the water, and was quite disfigured, the husband recognised it at once.’