“But why did you marry him?” the artist asked. “A convict was hardly a desirable husband.”
“Ah! you wonder. Well, there were several reasons,” she said. “Firstly, I was afraid lest he should expose me with regard to a certain incident which occurred at Passy, in which Bérard and I were implicated. We were on a midnight expedition, and a policeman who proved troublesome received an ugly dig with a knife; therefore I was confident that if this were divulged I should be arrested and sentenced as one of Victor’s accessories. Then, again, I had been told by an Englishman who knew him that Glanville had an ample income, and this was confirmed by his offer to provide me with money until his release. Besides, he, on the other hand, was anxious to marry me in order to secure my silence, because he knew I had discovered a secret of his which, if not preserved, might bring dire consequences. It may have been for the best that we parted so quickly, for as soon as the marriage ceremony was performed I regretted the rash step, inasmuch as the recollection of my discovery regarding his alliance with this woman came back to me in all its hideous reality.”
“What alliance?” inquired Valérie, whose firm, set face was as colourless as the dress she wore.
“It is well you should feign ignorance,” Gabrielle replied angrily. Then, turning to the two men, she said: “In order that you shall understand matters aright, I shall be compelled to describe the scene. It took place in a suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann tenanted by an English dealer in gems named Nicholson.”
“What do you know of him?” cried Valérie in a husky voice.
“Have patience and you shall hear,” she answered with a sarcastic smile. Again addressing her companions, she continued her narrative, saying: “While this woman was living with Victor, she had enchanted Egerton and Glanville. Both, unaware of one another’s feelings, were ecstatic over her face and figure; both worshipped her, and both were prepared to do anything to secure her favour.”
“That is true,” admitted the artist moodily. “I was a brainless fool. Yet I did not know until now that Glanville had also been smitten by her fatal beauty.”
“He had, nevertheless, as you will see. This woman—who afterwards assumed the name of Dedieu—with her usual crafty far-sightedness saw that it was possible to turn the mad impetuosity of you and your fellow-student to her advantage, and did not fail to embrace the opportunity. The scheme she concocted was indeed a fiendish one, which she carried out unaided, and the secret would have been safe even now had I not been the witness of her crime.”
“You—you saw me?” shrieked Valérie in dismay. “You lie! You saw nothing.”
“Her crime! What was it? Tell us quickly,” urged Hugh.