“Merely to introduce two persons to you—old friends.”
“Old friends!” she echoed. “Who are they?”
For answer, Egerton crossed the apartment and opened the door communicating with an ante-chamber. As he did so two persons advanced into the library.
“Gabrielle! Hugh!” she gasped, a look of sudden terror overspreading her countenance.
The tableau was well arranged and striking.
Valérie’s glance shifted in alarm from one to the other, while her three visitors looked upon her in silence, with expressions of calm, confident determination.
Hugh Trethowen’s countenance was careworn and pale; his whole appearance was that of a man weighed down by profound grief. The sufferings and privations had aged him considerably, yet there were in his face traces of some new feeling. His mouth, as a rule so serious, actually smiled; his look had more animation than it was wont to have, and altogether he had somewhat about him which was at once sad, malevolent, and self-satisfied.
“I—I did not expect this pleasure,” the adventuress stammered, with bitter sarcasm, without asking them to be seated.
The icy reception did not astonish them. They were fully prepared to meet the passionate wrath which they knew would be stirred within her.
“We are unwelcome, no doubt,” said Gabrielle Debriège, with a cynical smile. “Nevertheless, it is a long time, madame, since you and I met.”