“Monsieur,” he said, “Madame la Comtesse de Lanty, whose confessor I have the honor to be, requests me to give you a few explanations, to which you have an incontestable right, as to the scene that took place last evening between her husband and yourself.”

“I am ready to listen to you, monsieur,” I replied.

“Monsieur de Lanty,” continued the abbe, “is a bad sleeper; and one night last summer he was awakened by the sound of cautious steps.  He opened his door, and called out to know who was there.  He was not mistaken; some one was there, but did not answer, and disappeared before Monsieur de Lanty could obtain a light.  At first it was thought to be an attempt at robbery; but on further inquiry it appeared that a gentleman had taken a room in the neighborhood, and had frequently been seen in company with Mademoiselle Marianina,—­in short, the matter concerned a love affair and not a robbery.  Monsieur de Lanty has long watched his daughter, whose ardent inclinations have given him much anxiety; you yourself, monsieur, caused him some uneasiness in Rome—­”

“Very needless, Monsieur l’abbe,” I said, interrupting him.

“Yes.  I know that your relations to Mademoiselle de Lanty have always been perfectly proper and becoming.  But since their return to Paris another individual has occupied her mind,—­a bold and enterprising man, capable of risking everything to compromise and thus win an heiress.  Being taxed with having encouraged this man and allowed these nocturnal interviews, Mademoiselle de Lanty at first denied everything.  Then, evidently fearing that her father, a violent man, would take some steps against her lover, she threw herself at his feet and admitted the visits, but denied that the visitor was the man her father named to her.  At first she refused obstinately to substitute another name for the one she disavowed.  After some days passed in this struggle, she finally confessed to her mother, under a pledge of secrecy, that her father was right in his suspicions, but she dreaded the results to the family if she acknowledged the truth to him.  The man in question was a noted duellist, and her father and brother would surely bring him to account for his conduct.  It was then, monsieur, that the idea occurred to this imprudent girl to substitute another name for that of her real lover.”

“Ah!  I understand,” I said; “the name of a nobody, an artist, a sculptor, or some insignificant individual of that kind.”

“You do Mademoiselle de Lanty injustice by that remark,” replied the abbe.  “What decided her to make your name a refuge against the dangers she foresaw was the fact that Monsieur de Lanty had formerly had suspicions about you, and she thought that circumstance gave color to her statement.”

“But, Monsieur l’abbe,” I said, “how do you explain those letters, that portfolio, which her father produced yesterday?”

“That again was an invention of Marianina; and I may add that this duplicity assures me that had she remained in the world her future might have been terrible.”