Read attentively, and do not disturb yourself about the end.  I must first explain by what means of observation I made my discovery.  Then the denouement will appear in its proper place, which is not at the beginning.

The following is what I saw at the Chateau de Richeport.  You did not see it, because you were an actor.  I was merely a spectator, and had that advantage over you.

You, Edgar, and myself were in the parlor at noon.  It is the hour in the country when one takes shelter behind closed blinds to enjoy a friendly chat.  One is always sad, dreamy, meditative at this hour of a lovely summer-day, and can speak carelessly of indifferent things, and at the same time have every thought concentrated upon one beloved object.  These are the mysteries of the Demon de Midi, so much dreaded by the poet-king.

There was in one corner of the room a little rosewood-table, so frail that it could be crushed by the weight of a man’s hand.  On this table was a piece of embroidery and a crystal vase filled with flowers.  Suspended over this table was a copy of Camille Roqueplan’s picture:  “The Lion in Love.”  In the recess near the window was a piano open, and evidently just abandoned by a woman; the little stool was half-overturned by catching in the dress of some one suddenly rising, and the music open was a soprano air from Puritani:—­

  “Vien diletto, in ciel e luna,
  Tutto tace intorno....”

You will see how by inductions I reached the truth.  I don’t know the woman of this piano; I nevertheless will swear she exists.  Moreover, I know she is young, pretty, has a good figure, is graceful and easy in her manner, and is adored by some one in the chateau.  If any ordinary woman had left her embroidery on the table, if she had upset the stool in leaving the piano, two idle nervous young men like yourselves would from curiosity and ennui have examined the embroidery, disarranged the vase of flowers, picked up the stool, and closed the piano.  But no hand dared to meddle with this holy disorder under pretext of arranging it.  These evidences, still fresh and undisturbed, attest a respect that belongs only to love.

This woman, to me unknown, is then young and pretty, since she is so ardently loved, and by more than one person, as I shall proceed to prove.  She has a commanding figure, because her embroidery is fine.  I know not if she be maid or wife, but this I do know, if she is not married, the vestiges that she left in the parlor indicate a great independence of position and character.  If she is married, she is not governed by her husband, or indeed she may be a widow.

Allow me to recall your conversation with Edgar at dinner.  Hitherto I have remarked that in all discussions of painting, music, literature and love, your opinions always coincided with Edgar’s; to hear you speak was to hear Edgar, and vice versa.  In opinions and sentiments you were twin-brothers.  Now listen how you both expressed yourselves before me on that day.