“I am entirely in accord, m’sieur—quite. Some steps must at once be taken to ascertain that man’s motives.”
“It seems curious that he should have been introduced for the purpose of meeting Sibyl. What information did he want from her?”
“How can we tell? You know better than myself whether she ever knows any secrets of the Embassy.”
“She knows nothing,—of that I am absolutely convinced,” I responded. “Her father is devoted to her; but, nevertheless, he is one of those strict diplomatists who do not believe in trusting women with secrets.”
“Yet Wolf had a distinct object in making a good impression upon her,” she said reflectively.
“No doubt. As soon as she returned she began to talk of him.”
And next instant I recollected the strange effect the news of his arrival in Paris had had upon Yolande, and the curiously tragic event which had subsequently occurred. All was puzzling—all inscrutable.
A silence fell between us. I was revolving in my mind whether I should ask this wizen-faced old leader of Society a further question. With sudden resolve I turned to her again and asked:
“O Baronne, I had quite forgotten. Do you chance to know the Countess de Foville, of Brussels? They have a château down in the Ardennes, and move in the best set in Belgium?”
“De Foville? De Foville?” she repeated. “What, do you mean the mother of that little witch Yolande?”