"Come, madame," I said good-humouredly, "you know Rodolphe Wolf quite as
well as I do. When you last met, his name was not Wolf. Is not that
so?"
"Well," she answered, "now that you put it in that manner I may as well
admit that your suggestion is correct."
"And what is the object of his sudden visit to Paris?"
"I cannot make out," she replied in a more confidential tone. "As I
tell you, de Wolkenstein introduced him, but, as m'sieur knows, I am
very quick to detect a face that I have once seen, and I recognised him
in an instant."
"Sibyl told me that he had a long chat with her, and she described him
as a most charming fellow."
"Ah, no doubt! I suspected him and watched. It was evident that he
came to my salon in order to meet her."
"To meet Sibyl! Why?"
"That I cannot tell."
"But I think, Baronne, we may be both agreed upon one point."
"And that is?"
"That the man who now calls himself Rodolphe Wolf is here in Paris with
some secret motive."
"I am entirely in accord, m'sieur--quite. Some steps must at once be
taken to ascertain that man's motives."
"It seems curious that he should have been introduced for the purpose of
meeting Sibyl. What information did he want from her?"
"How can we tell? You know better than myself whether she ever knows
any secrets of the Embassy."
"She knows nothing,--of that I am absolutely convinced," I responded.
"Her father is devoted to her; but, nevertheless, he is one of those
strict diplomatists who do not believe in trusting women with secrets."
"Yet Wolf had a distinct object in making a good impression upon her,"
she said reflectively.
"No doubt. As soon as she returned she began to talk of him."
And next instant I recollected the strange effect the news of his
arrival in Paris had had upon Yolande, and the curiously tragic event
which had subsequently occurred. All was puzzling--all inscrutable.
A silence fell between us. I was revolving in my mind whether I should
ask this wizen-faced old leader of Society a further question. With
sudden resolve I turned to her again and asked:
"O Baronne, I had quite forgotten. Do you chance to know the Countess
de Foville, of Brussels? They have a chateau down in the Ardennes, and
move in the best set in Belgium?"
"De Foville? De Foville?" she repeated. "What, do you mean the mother
of that little witch Yolande?"
"Yes. But why do you call her a witch?" I demanded, with feigned
laughter.
"Why?" cried the old woman, the expression of her face growing dark with
displeasure. "Well, I do not know whether she is a friend of yours, but
all I can tell you is that should she be, the best course for you to
pursue is to cut her acquaintance."
"What do you mean?" I gasped.
"I mean exactly what I have said."
"But I don't understand," I cried. "Be more frank with me," I implored.
"No," she answered in that hard voice, by which I knew that mention of
Yolande's name had displeased her. "Remember that we are friends, and
that sometimes we have interests in common. Therefore, take this piece
of advice from an old woman who knows."
"Knows what?"
"Knows that your friendship with the pretty Yolande is dangerous--
extremely dangerous."