Don Luis was for one moment amazed. Florence Levasseur here! Florence,
whom he had left in the train under Mazeroux's supervision and for whom
it was physically impossible to be back in Paris before eight o'clock in
the evening!
Then, despite his bewilderment, he at once understood. Florence, knowing
that she was being followed, had drawn them after her to the Gare
Saint-Lazare and simply walked through the railway carriage, getting out
on the other platform, while the worthy Mazeroux went on in the train to
keep his eye on the traveller who was not there.
But suddenly the full horror of the situation struck him. Florence was
here to claim the inheritance; and her claim, as he himself had said, was
a proof of the most terrible guilt.
Acting on an irresistible impulse, Don Luis leaped to the girl's side,
seized her by the arm and said, with almost malevolent force:
"What are you doing here? What have you come for? Why did you not
let me know?"
M. Desmalions stepped between them. But Don Luis, without letting go of
the girl's arm, exclaimed:
"Oh, Monsieur le Préfet, don't you see that this is all a mistake? The
person whom we are expecting, about whom I told you, is not this one. The
other is keeping in the background, as usual. Why it's impossible that
Florence Levasseur--"
"I have no preconceived opinion on the subject of this young lady," said
the Prefect of Police, in an authoritative voice. "But it is my duty to
question her about the circumstances that brought her here; and I shall
certainly do so."
He released the girl from Don Luis's grasp and made her take a seat. He
himself sat down at his desk; and it was easy to see how great an
impression the girl's presence made upon him. It afforded so to speak an
illustration of Don Luis's argument.
The appearance on the scene of a new person, laying claim to the
inheritance, was undeniably, to any logical mind, the appearance on the
scene of a criminal who herself brought with her the proofs of her
crimes. Don Luis felt this clearly and, from that moment, did not take
his eyes off the Prefect of Police.
Florence looked at them by turns as though the whole thing was the most
insoluble mystery to her. Her beautiful dark eyes retained their
customary serenity. She no longer wore her nurse's uniform; and her gray
gown, very simply cut and devoid of ornaments, showed her graceful
figure. She was grave and unemotional as usual.