“You are doing the same thing yourself,” she answered.

“Yes,” I replied, “because I am not satisfied.  But you have proved your conviction by becoming Richard Foster’s second wife.”

“That is the very point,” she said, shedding a few tears; “as soon as ever Mrs. Wilkinson described Ellen Martineau to me, when she was talking about her visitor who had come to inquire after her, in that cab which was standing at the door the last time you visited Mr. Foster—­and I had no suspicion of it—­I grew quite frightened lest he should ever be charged with marrying me while she was alive.  So I persuaded him to let me come here and make sure of it, though the journey costs a great deal, and we have very little money to spare.  We did not know what tricks Olivia might do, and it made me very miserable to think she might be still alive, and I in her place.”

I could not but acknowledge to myself that there was some reason in Mrs. Foster’s statement of the case.

“There is not the slightest chance of your finding her,” I remarked.

“Isn’t there?” she asked, with an evil gleam in her eyes, which I just caught before she hid her face again in her handkerchief.

“At any rate,” I said, “you would have no power over her if you found her.  You could not take her back with you by force.  I do not know how the French laws would regard Foster’s authority, but you can have none whatever, and he is quite unfit to take this long journey to claim her.  Really I do not see what you can do; and I should think your wisest plan would be to go back and take care of him, leaving her alone.  I am here to protect her, and I shall stay until I see you fairly out of the place.”

She did not speak again for some minutes, but she was evidently reflecting upon what I had just said.

“But what are we to live upon?” she asked at last; “there is her money lying in the bank, and neither she nor Richard can touch it.  It must be paid to her personally or to her order; and she cannot prove her identity herself without the papers Richard holds.  It is aggravating.  I am at my wits’ end about it.”

“Listen to me,” I said.  “Why cannot we come to some arrangement, supposing Ellen Martineau proves to be Olivia?  It would be better for you all to make some division of her property by mutual agreement.  You know best whether Olivia could insist upon a judicial separation.  But in any other case why should not Foster agree to receive half her income, and leave her free, as free as she can be, with the other half?  Surely some mutual agreement could be made.”

“He would never do it!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands round her knees, and swaying to and fro passionately; “he never loses any power.  She belongs to him, and he never gives up any thing.  He would torment her almost to death, but he would never let her go free.  No, no.  You do not know him, Dr. Martin.”

“Then we will try to get a divorce,” I said, looking at her steadily.