“I will explain everything when in your presence, I meet her face to face. Till then I keep my own secret, fully confident that after the revelations I shall make she will not dare to trouble you again with her presence.”
“But you must not—you shall not—do this!” cried Egerton excitedly. “She will wreak her vengeance upon me.”
“Entertain no such gloomy apprehensions,” urged Gabrielle, with a smile of assurance. “Before I have done with ‘La Belle Hirondelle’ she will implore for mercy upon her knees. But will I extend any to her? No. Grand Dieu! She shall suffer for her crime, as I have done.”
She spoke determinedly, her dark eyes emitting a fierce gleam of hatred.
“How do you propose to do that?” inquired Hugh breathlessly.
“Ask no questions at present, m’sieur. Your wife and her lover have obtained your fortune and are spending it recklessly. At present this—what you call leader of the demi-monde—is entertaining a party at your château. My proposal is that we three go down there to-morrow and in the midst of the festivities, we will produce an interesting tableau. Do you agree?”
“You spoke of my wife’s lover,” gasped Hugh. “Tell me, who is he?”
“Pierre Rouillier—the man you know as Adolphe Chavoix.”
“Chavoix!”
“Yes. Accompany me to-morrow, and you shall see.”