Monsieur de Lamotte, thunderstruck by such a revelation, could not contain his impatience and indignation.

“This, then,” he said, “is the explanation of an anonymous letter which I received, and of the injurious suggestions’ concerning my wife’s honour which it contained; it was written to give an appearance of probability to this infamous legend.  The whole thing is a disgraceful plot, and no doubt Monsieur Derues wrote the letter himself.”

“I know nothing about it,” said Derues unconcernedly, “and the explanation which you profess to find in it I should rather refer to something else I am going to mention.  I did not know a secret warning had been sent to you:  I now learn it from you, and I understand perfectly that such a letter, may have been written.  But that you have received such a warning ought surely to be a reason for listening patiently and not denouncing all I say as imposture.”

While saying this Derues mentally constructed the fresh falsehood necessitated by the interruption, but no variation of countenance betrayed his thought.  He had an air of dignity natural to his position.  He saw that, in spite of clear-headedness and long practice in studying the most deceptive countenances, the magistrate so far had not scented any of his falsehoods, and was getting bewildered in the windings of this long narrative, through which Derues led him as he chose; and he resumed with confidence—­

“You know that I made Monsieur de Lamotte’s acquaintance more than a year ago, and I had reason to believe his friendship as sincere as my own.  As a friend, I could not calmly accept the suspicion which then entered my mind, nor could I conceal my surprise.  Madame de Lamotte saw this, and understood from my looks that I was not satisfied with the explanation she wished me to accept.  A glance of intelligence passed between her and her friend, who was still holding Edouard’s hand.  The day, though cold, was fine, and she proposed a walk in the park.  I offered her my arm, and the stranger walked in front with Edouard.  We had a short conversation, which has remained indelibly fixed in my memory.

“‘Why did you come?’ she inquired.

“I did not answer, but looked sternly at her, in order to discompose her.  At length I said—­

“’You should have written, madame, and warned me that my coming would be indiscreet.’

“She seemed much disconcerted, and exclaimed—­

“’I am lost!  I see you guess everything, and will tell my husband.  I am an unhappy woman, and a sin once committed can never be erased from the pages of a woman’s life!  Listen, Monsieur Derues, listen, I implore you!  You see this man, I shall not tell you who he is, I shall not give his name . . . but I loved him long ago; I should have been his wife, and had he not been compelled to leave France, I should have married no one else.’”

Monsieur de Lamotte started, and grew pale.