"that is very strange," lance murmured. "i am told that the trial in question was the talk of europe for two or three years. i believe the papers were full of it at the time. and yet you don't seem to have heard of it. isn't the name of flavio familiar to you at all? it is not a common name."
as lance spoke he saw a swift and subtle change pass over the face of his companion. a flame of colour stained either cheek; then it was gone, leaving her still more ghastly white than before.
"i have not told you quite the truth," the woman said; "but in twenty years one forgets even the keenest of sorrows. now i come to think of it, the name of flavio reminds me of one of the most unhappy experiences in my existence. there was a certain count flavio whose estates joined those of my father. for some generations there had been a deep and bitter feud existing between the flavios and the descartis. the head of the flavios was a very old man, who had two sons. not to make a long story of it, the young people met, and fell in love with each other: the young people on one side being my sister and myself. the intrigue was found out, of course, and for the next ten years i was practically a prisoner in my father's house. he had a gloomy old fortress somewhere up country, and there i was detained. i might have been there still had my parents lived."
"and your sister?" lance asked. "what of her?"
again the woman hesitated. again the look of pain and suffering swept like a wave across her face.
"they told me my sister was dead," she murmured. "i had to take their word for it."
"and you believed it? you believe it still? i hope you will pardon me for my persistent questions, but it is quite necessary that i should put them. do you feel quite convinced?"
once more mrs. delahay hesitated. once more she seemed to shrink as if in physical pain.
"how can i know? how can i tell?" she asked. "did i not say that i had been a prisoner all those years? this would account for the fact that i know nothing about that flavio tragedy. are you going to tell me that it is one and the same family to whom my sister and myself were attached?"
"indeed, i do," lance went on. "your count flavio had two sons. when he died his elder son came into the title and estates. that was the man who was afterwards poisoned by his wife; at least, a great many people think so. and his wife's name was carlotta. her surname was descarti. my dear mrs. delahay, it is impossible to believe that this is a coincidence."
"i quite agree with you," mrs. delahay said, in a low voice. "they seem to have deceived me about my sister, and my parents told me that she was dead. i suppose they meant that she was dead to the family. she must have made her escape, and married her lover after all. i was less fortunate. but what you say absolutely overwhelms me. the man that my sister loved was a splendid specimen of humanity; he was kind-hearted and generous; in every sense of the word he was a gentleman. and i can vouch for my sister's many good qualities. to say that she poisoned him is absurd. why, she simply worshipped him. but, tell me, what opinion did the world form as to the merits of this extraordinary case?"
'"i want to spare you as much pain as possible," lance murmured. "but your sister was held up to execration as a fiend in human form. one servant after another gave evidence to this effect. they seemed to think that your sister was not altogether sane--but why should i torture you with these details? what i really came here to tell you is this. the italian detective, berti, who had the case in hand, is in england at the present moment, and he has seen you. he declares that you are countess flavio. you can see how seriously this accusation may tell against you--later on."
lance uttered the last two words reluctantly enough, but mrs. delahay saw their full significance.
"oh, i know what you mean," she said. "you mean that i have placed myself in a perilous position. but there is one thing i can assure you--i am not the countess flavio. if necessary, when the time comes, i can prove this in a manner which would set even that italian policeman's suspicions at rest. it is very kind of you to take all this trouble on my behalf. i suppose you want me to tell the whole truth, and say why i denied being away from the hotel the other night, when three people can come forward and show that my statement is false. well, it was false. i don't mind going as far as that. but more i cannot and will not say, except that i am an innocent woman who has been a prey to cruel misfortune all her life."
there was determination as well as sadness in the words. lance could see that he was merely wasting his time.
"think it well over," he said; "give it every consideration. i will call and see you again in the morning."
no reply came from maria delahay. she merely held out her hand, and lance took his leave without another word. then the woman dropped into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
why did fate persecute her in this way, she asked herself. why had her life been such a misery for the past twenty years. surely all this was a terrible price to pay for a childish indiscretion. and yet, though the years had been long and burdensome, it seemed but a brief step back to the happy, sunny days when she and her sister had been children playing in the woods at home and getting every drop of enjoyment out of life. then they had hardly comprehended the feud that existed between the descartis and the flavios. indeed, they had looked upon it as rather a silly business altogether and a distinct nuisance to mutual friends and neighbours. they had begun to notice, too, that the sons of old flavio were good to look upon, and finally one day a slight adventure in the woods had thrown the young people together.
the thing had begun in a harmless fashion enough. they met again, and yet once more. they fell in the way of discussing the family quarrel and making light of it. from then on the path was pleasant and easy enough, and one day the two girls awoke to the fact that they were both deeply in love with the sons of their hereditary enemy. it was at this point that stern old descarti discovered the great secret.
what happened after that maria descarti hardly knew. there was a terrible storm of rage and passion, sleepless nights, and tear-bedewed pillows, and then such a life of greyness and despair that the girls had never dreamt of. when at length she ventured courage to ask after her sister, she was told that the latter was dead. she took this statement literally, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.
the prison doors were open at length, but only on the death of her parent, and there she was at forty years of age, helpless and friendless, with no knowledge of the world, and nothing to aid her besides her brush and pencil. the struggle was indeed a hard one, and it looked like ending at length when she came in contact with louis delahay. she had no strong passion to give him, nothing but the tranquil affection of approaching middle age.
she had been perfectly candid in the matter, and delahay knew exactly what he had to expect. perhaps the prospect of tranquil happiness was far better than the rosy dreams of youth. and all this was now shattered by the unexpected tragedy.
maria delahay had reached this point in her thoughts; then her mind wandered on to what lance had recently told her. and so, after all, her sister was alive. this knowledge had not reached maria delahay tonight. she had suspected it for some days, and it had come about in quite a prosaic way.
she could see it now quite clearly in her mind. the pleasant-mannered chambermaid had come into the sitting-room soon after delahay had gone out on that fatal evening. she had evidently taken a liking to her visitor. maria could see her now as she fussed about the room.
"is there anything you want?" she asked.
"you seem to have forgotten me," the girl said. "i waited upon you when you were here last spring."
"last spring!" mrs. delahay exclaimed. "why, surely, you have made a mistake. i have never been here before."
"oh, madam," the girl said reproachfully, "you are making fun of me. you came here by yourself, and stayed for the best part of a week. you had very few visitors, and you used to talk to me a good deal. . . . only the name is different. you used to have carlotta, not maria, on the envelopes i brought up to you."
mrs. delahay started. with difficulty she restrained her feelings, for the chambermaid's innocent words had let a flood of light in a dark place. in the happy old days people were constantly mistaking her for her sister. was it possible that her sister was still alive? was it possible that she had been deceived all this time? a little dissimulation might be the means of getting the truth from the voluble chambermaid.
"you have sharp eyes," she said, "and, no doubt, a good memory. how long did i stay here, and where did i go afterwards?"
"it was a little over a week," the girl said. "and then you went away to number seventeen, isleworth road, kensington. i remember the address because i have a sister in service who used to live next door. perhaps madam does not want to be remembered? there are many reasons why it is prudent not to know too much."
"i am glad to see you are so discreet," mrs. delahay smiled. "there is no reason to mention this to anybody else, you understand?"
