“Everything.  First, your sister-in-law’s story, then her reasons for sending her child alone to the museum, as well as the cause of her flight before she could have heard of that poor child’s fate.  More hangs upon an understanding of these facts than I am at liberty to tell you.  She herself would agree with me in this if I could have a few minutes’ conversation with her.”

“She is not in the house.  She left us late last night without giving us the least hint as to where she was going.  She is, as you can very well see, as little anxious to talk of her great trouble as you are to have her, and recognizing that attempts were being made to find her and make her speak, she fled before it was too late.  I am sorry she did so, sorry for her and sorry for ourselves.  We do not approve her course, whatever reasons she may have for it.  At the same time, I feel bound to assure you that to her they are all-sufficient.  She is a conscientious woman, with many fine qualities, and when she says as she did to us, ’It is my duty to flee,’ and again as she bade us a final adieu, ’I will die rather than speak a word of what is on my mind,’ I know that it is no small matter which sends her wandering about like this.”

“I should think not.  A mother to leave her daughter to be exposed at the morgue, and never intervene to protect her from this ignominy or to see that she has proper burial after that dread display is over!”

“I know—­it was dreadful—­and we!  Do you not think we felt the horror of this also?”

“Your own flesh and blood—­that is, your husband’s.  I wonder you could stand it.”

“We had promised.  She made us promise the first day she came that we would keep still and make no move, whatever happened.”

“It was here she came then, directly from the hotel?”

“I am obliged to admit it.”

“With her torn dress and her little bag?”

“Yes.”

“And you procured her different clothes and the suit-case in which she now lugs about her effects?”

“You seem to know it all.”

“Mrs. Duclos, I hope you will answer my next question as honestly as you have the previous ones.  Had Madame Duclos heard of her daughter’s death when she first presented herself to you?”

“Since you ask me this, I must answer.  She was in great distress, but did not tell me why, till I asked her where Angeline was.  Then she broke down utterly and flinging herself face down on the sofa, sobbed and wailed and finally confided to us that a terrible accident had happened to the child and that she was lying dead in one of the city’s great museums.”

“Did she say what accident?”

“No; she was almost delirious with grief, and we couldn’t question her.  After the papers came and we had read the dreadful news, we tried to get from her some explanation of what it all meant, but now she wouldn’t answer; before, she couldn’t.”

“Did you ask her how she came to know that Angeline was dead, before the news was circulated outside the museum?”