Stangrave started.  Claude went on unconscious:—­

“But who sees them in the light of that beauty?  They are defects, no doubt, but defects which no one would observe without deep study of the face.  They express her character no more than a scar would; and therefore when I paint her, as I must and will, I shall utterly ignore them.  If, on the other hand, I met the same lines in a face which I knew to have Quadroon blood in it, I should religiously copy them; because then they would be integral elements of the face.  You understand?”

“Understand?—­yes,” answered Stangrave, in a tone which made Claude look up.

That strange scene of half an hour before flashed across him.  What if it were no fancy?  What if Marie had African blood in her veins?  And Stangrave shuddered, and felt for the moment that thousands of pounds would be a cheap price to pay for the discovery that his fancy was a false one.

“Yes—­oh—­I beg your pardon,” said he, recovering himself.  “I was thinking of something else.  But, as you say, what if she had Quadroon blood?”

“I?  I never said so, or dreamt of it.”

“Oh!  I mistook.  Do you know, though, where she came from?”

“I?  You forget, my dear fellow, that you yourself introduced her to us.”

“Of course; but I thought Mrs. Mellot might—­women always makes confidences.”

“All we know is, what I suppose you knew long ago, that her most intimate friend, next to you, seems to be an old friend of ours, named Thurnall.”

“An old friend of yours?”

“Oh yes; we have known him these fifteen years.  Met him first at Paris; and after that went round the world with him, and saw infinite adventures.  Sabina and I spent three months with him once, among the savages in a South-sea Island, and a very pretty romance our stay and our escape would make.  We were all three, I believe, to have been cooked and eaten, if Tom had not got us off by that wonderful address which, if you know him, you must know well enough.”

“Yes,” answered Stangrave, coldly, as in a dream; “I have known Mr. Thurnall in past years; but not in connection with La Signora Cordifiamma I was not aware till this moment—­this morning, I mean—­that they knew each other.”

“You astound me; why, she talks of him to us all day long, as of one to whom she has the deepest obligations; she was ready to rush into our arms when she first found that we knew him.  He is a greater hero in her eyes, I sometimes fancy, than even you are.  She does nothing (or fancies that she does nothing, for you know her pretty wilfulness) without writing for his advice.”

“I a hero in her eyes?  I was really not aware of that fact,” said Stangrave, more coldly than ever; for bitter jealousy had taken possession of his heart.  “Do you know, then, what this same obligation may be?”

“I never asked.  I hate gossiping, and I make a rule to inquire into no secrets but such as are voluntarily confided to me; and I know that she has never told Sabina.”