“What was his name?” asked the veiled lady.

“Georges Drouet—­he lived in the Rue de la Huchette, just off the Rue Saint Jacques—­on the top floor, under the gutters.  He was bad—­bad; —­he lived off women.  I met him six months ago.  He knew how to fascinate one; I thought he loved me.  Then he began to borrow money from me, until he had taken all that I had saved; then my rings —­every one!” She held up her hands to show their bareness.  “Then....”

She stopped and glanced at her mistress.

“Continue!” said the latter.  “Tell what you have to tell.”

“I knew that madame also....”

She stopped again.  I walked over to the window and stood staring at the wooden shutter, strangely moved.

“Well, why not?” she demanded fiercely, and I felt that she was addressing my turned back.  “Why not?  Shall a woman not be loved?  Shall a woman endure what madame endured....”

“That will do, Julie,” broke in the veiled lady, her voice cold as ice.  “Tell your story.”

“I knew of the secret drawer; I had seen madame open it; I knew what it contained.  But I was faithful to madame; I loved her; I was glad that she had found some one....  Madame will remember her despair, her horror, when she entered her room to find the cabinet gone, taken away, sold by that....  I, too, was in despair—­I desired with my whole soul to help madame.  That night I had a rendezvous with him,” and she nodded toward the photograph which lay upon the floor.  “I told him.”

Her mistress stood as though turned to stone.  I could guess her anguish and humiliation.

“He questioned me—­he learned everything—­the drawer, how it was opened—­all.  But I did not suspect what was in his mind—­not for an instant did I suspect.  But on the boat I saw him, and then I knew.  Well, he has got what he deserved!”

She shivered and pressed her hands against her eyes.

“I think that is all, madame,” she added, hoarsely.

“It is all of that story,” said Godfrey, in a crisp voice; “but there is another.”

“Another?” echoed the veiled lady, looking at him.

“Ask her, madame, for what purpose she called at this house, night before last, and saw Philip Vantine in this room.”

“I did not!” shrieked the girl, her face ablaze.  “It is a lie!”

“She does not need to tell!” went on Godfrey inexorably.  “Any fool could guess.  She came for the letters!  She had resolved herself to blackmail you, madame!”

“It is a lie!” shrieked the girl again.  “I came hoping to save her —­to....”

A storm of angry sobbing choked her.

I could see how the veiled lady was trembling.  I placed a chair for her, and she sank into it with a murmur of thanks.

“Besides, we have a witness to her visit,” added Godfrey.  “Shall I call the police, madame?”

“No, no!” and the girl sat upright again, her face ghastly.  “I will tell.  I will tell all.  Give me but a moment!”