“Do you tell me that Ella Laing is not what she represents herself to be?” I inquired eagerly.
“Ah, no,” she answered. “I ask m’sieur if he knows of her past. M’sieur was once good to me, very good. I forget never those who to me are generous.”
“But your words contain a hidden meaning,” I said, dropping into French, hoping thereby to induce her to place my mind at rest.
“Yes, I am well aware of that,” she answered, with volubility. “You love her; you have offered her marriage—the woman who is your most bitter foe!”
“What do you mean? That Ella is my enemy?” I cried, dismayed.
Her full, red lips parted in a silvery peal of laughter, displaying an even set of pearly teeth, as, throwing back her handsome head, she exclaimed,—
“Ah! I expected it would cause you pain to learn the truth. Yet, after all, is it not best to know now, instead of hereafter?”
“In what way is she my enemy?” I asked, bending forward to her and transfixing her with my eyes.
She remained silent, merely giving her shoulders a slight shrug, sighing the while.
“A moment ago you told me that because I once performed you a service you intended to render me one in return. Come, tell me the truth,” I urged.