He might have been an adventurer, a Captain of Kopenick of the day, who had poured a gallant but mendacious tale into her ears.
“I hardly ever saw him out of uniform. He was quartered at Marseilles on special duty. I knew some of his brother officers.”
“Then,” said I, “there are only two alternatives. Either he has left the army or he is——”
“Dead?” she whispered.
“Let us hope,” said I, “that he has left the army.”
“You must find out, Mr. de Gex,” she said in a low voice. “I took it for granted that my husband was alive. It's horrible to think that he may be dead. It alters everything, somehow. Until I know, I shall be in a state of awful suspense. You'll make inquiries at once, won't you?”
“Did you love your husband, Madame Brandt?” I asked.
She looked at the fire for some time without replying. She stood with one foot on the fender.
“I thought I did when I married him,” she said at last. “I thought I did when he left me.”
“And now?”