“Pensioners are not often so outspoken in their dissatisfaction,” remarked the priest.

I laughed as I thought of the shifts to which Bellenger must have been put.  Abbe Edgeworth with merciless dryness inquired,

“How were you able to post to Mittau?”

“I borrowed money of a friend in Paris, monsieur, trusting that his Majesty will requite me for my services.”

“But why was it necessary for you to post to Mittau, where this pretender would certainly meet exposure?”

“Because I discovered that he carried with him a casket of the martyred queen’s jewels, stolen from the Marquis du Plessy.”

“How did the Marquis du Plessy obtain possession of the queen’s jewels?”

“That I do not know.”

“But the jewels are the lawful property of Madame d’Angouleme.  He must have known they would be seized.”

“I thought it necessary to bring my evidence against him, monsieur.”

“There was little danger of his imposing himself upon the court.  Yet you are rather to be commended than censured, Bellenger.  Did this pretender know you were in Paris?”

“He saw me there.”

“Many times?”

“At least twice, monsieur the abbe.”

“Did he avoid you?”

“I avoided him.  I took pains to keep him from knowing how I watched him.”

“You say he flaunted.  When he left Paris for Mittau was the fact generally reported?”

“No, monsieur.”

“You learned it yourself?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“But he must have known you would pursue him.”

“He left with great secrecy, monsieur the abbe.”  It was given out that he was merely going to the country.”

“What made you suspect he was coming to Mittau?”

“He hired a strong post-chaise and made many preparations.”

“But didn’t his friend the Marquis du Plessy discover the robbery?  Why didn’t he follow and take the thief?”

“Dead men don’t follow, monsieur the abbe.  The Marquis du Plessy had a duel on his hands, and was killed the day after this Lazarre left Paris.”

Of all Bellenger’s absurd fabrications this story was the most ridiculous.  I laughed again.  Madame d’Angouleme took her hands from her face and our eyes met one instant, but the idiot whined like a dog.  She shuddered, and covered her sight.

The priest turned from Bellenger to me with a fair-minded expression, and inquired,

“What have you to say?”

I had a great deal to say, though the only hearer I expected to convince was my sister.  If she believed in me I did not care whether the others believed or not.  I was going to begin with Lake George, the mountain, and the fog, and Bellenger’s fear of me, and his rage when Louis Philippe told him the larger portion of the money sent from Europe was given to me.

Facing Marie-Therese, therefore, instead of the Abbe Edgeworth, I spoke her name.  She looked up once more.  And instead of being in Mittau, I was suddenly on a balcony at Versailles!