e used the word 'suicide,' mademoiselle: do you then really
think, as everyone seems to do, that your patroness killed herself of
her own free will?"

Elizabeth reflected a minute before replying:

"That was what she wrote--and one must believe that, nevertheless ..."

"Nevertheless?"

Elizabeth hesitated, passed her hand over her forehead, then said:

"Nevertheless, Monsieur Fandor, the more I think over this death, the
more remarkable it seems. The Baroness de Vibray was not the kind of
person to commit suicide, even if she were unhappy, even if she were
ruined. I have often heard her speak of her money affairs; she even used
to joke about the expostulations of her bankers, Messieurs
Barbey-Nanteuil, because she was too fond of gambling. That was our poor
friend's weakness: she was a dreadful gambler: she was always betting on
horses and gambling on the Bourse."[8]

[Footnote 8: Stock Exchange.]

"Do you know the Barbey-Nanteuils at all, mademoiselle?"

"A little. I have met them once or twice at Madame de Vibray's--when she
had one of her little evenings. Once or twice my brother has asked their
advice about investments--very modest investments I can assure you--and
they got one of their friends, a Monsieur Thomery, to buy some of my
brother's art pottery."

"Have you many acquaintances in Paris, mademoiselle?"

"Besides the Baroness we hardly saw anyone except Madame Bourrat, a very
nice, kind woman, widow of an inspector of the City of Paris; she keeps
a boarding-house at Auteuil, rue Raffet. In fact, I am staying with her
now, for I had not the courage to go back to my brother's place: too
many dreadful memories are connected with his studio there. I am lucky
to find such a sympathetic friend in Madame Bourrat, and such a warm
welcome.... I am alone now, and life is sad."

Fandor went on with his cross-examination:

"Nevertheless, mademoiselle, I must ask you to return in thought to that
tragic home of yours. Please tell me what people you knew in your
immediate neighbourhood? Acquaintances?"

Elizabeth considered:

"Acquaintances is the word, because we were not on really intimate terms
with our neighbours in the Cite; for the most part they are either art
students or work-people. However, we saw fairly often a nice man, a
stranger, a Dutchman I think he was, called Monsieur Van Hoeren; he
manufactures accordions; and lives in a little house opposite ours, with
six children; he has been a widower