vening, with the newspapers spread over my table, we
discussed the affair and examined it from every point of view with that
exasperation that a person feels when walking in the dark and finding
himself constantly falling over the same obstacles. Suddenly, without
any warning whatsoever, the door opened and a lady entered. Her face was
hidden behind a thick veil. I rose at once and approached her.

"Is it you, monsieur, who lives here?" she asked.

"Yes, madame, but I do not understand---"

"The gate was not locked," she explained.

"But the vestibule door?"

She did not reply, and it occurred to me that she had used the servants'
entrance. How did she know the way? Then there was a silence that was
quite embarrassing. She looked at Daspry, and I was obliged to introduce
him. I asked her to be seated and explain the object of her visit. She
raised her veil, and I saw that she was a brunette with regular features
and, though not handsome, she was attractive--principally, on account of
her sad, dark eyes.

"I am Madame Andermatt," she said.

"Madame Andermatt!" I repeated, with astonishment.

After a brief pause, she continued with a voice and manner that were
quite easy and natural:

"I have come to see you about that affair--you know. I thought I might
be able to obtain some information---"

"Mon Dieu, madame, I know nothing but what has already appeared in the
papers. But if you will point out in what way I can help you...."

"I do not know....I do not know."

Not until then did I suspect that her calm demeanor was assumed, and
that some poignant grief was concealed beneath that air of tranquility.
For a moment, we were silent and embarrassed. Then Daspry stepped
forward, and said:

"Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?"

"Yes, yes," she cried. "I will answer."

"You will answer.... whatever those questions may be?"

"Yes."

"Did you know Louis Lacombe?" he asked.

"Yes, through my husband."

"When did you see him for the last time?"

"The evening he dined with us."

"At that time, was there anything to lead you to believe that you would
never see him again?"

"No. But he had spoken of a trip to Russia--in a vague way."

"Then you expected to see him again?"

"Yes. He was to dine with us, two days later."

"How do you explain his disappearance?"

"I cannot explain it."

"And Mon. Andermatt?"

"I do not know."

"Yet the article published in the `Echo de France' indicates-