"No more do I!" chuckled the prince. "And that's just what makes your case so quaint." "Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh . . . you're always laughing! . . . But I'm beginning to have enough of it. . . . I'm mixed up in a heap of nasty matters . . . to say nothing of the danger which I run in pretending to be somebody that I am not." "What do you mean . . . that you are not? You're quite as much a duke as I am a prince . . . perhaps even more so. . . . Besides, if you're not a duke, hurry up and become one, hang it all! Geneviève can't marry any one but a duke! Look at her: isn't she worth selling your soul for?" He did not even look at Leduc, not caring what he thought. They had reached the house by this time; and Geneviève appeared at the foot of the steps, comely and smiling: "So you have returned?" she said to the prince. "Ah, that's a good thing! I am so glad. . . . Do you want to see Dolores?" After a moment, she showed him into Mrs. Kesselbach's room. The prince was taken aback. Dolores was paler still and thinner than on the day when he saw her last. Lying on a sofa, wrapped up in white stuffs, she looked like one of those sick people who have ceased to struggle against death. As for her, she had ceased to struggle against life, against the fate that was overwhelming her with its blows. Sernine gazed at her with deep pity and with an emotion which he did not strive to conceal. She thanked him for the sympathy which he showed her. She also spoke of Baron Altenheim, in friendly terms. "Did you know him before?" he asked. "Yes, by name, and through his intimacy with my husband." "I have met an Altenheim who lives in the Rue de Rivoli. Do you think it's the same?" "Oh, no, this one lives in . . . As a matter of fact, I don't quite know; he gave me his address, but I can't say that I remember it. . . ." After a few minutes' conversation, Sernine took his leave. Geneviève was waiting for him in the hall: "I want to speak to you," she said eagerly, "on a serious matter. . . . Did you see him?" "Whom?" "Baron Altenheim. . . . But that's not his name . . . or, at least, he has another. . . . I recognized him . . . he does not know it." She dragged him out of doors and walked on in great excitement. "Calm yourself, Geneviève. . . ." "He's the man who tried to carry me off. . . . But for that poor M. Lenormand, I should have been done for. . . . Come, you must know, for you know everything. . . ." "Then his real name is . . ." "Ribeira." "Are you sure?" "It was no use his changing his appearance, his accent, his manner: I knew him at once, by the horror with which he inspires me. But I said nothing . . . until you returned." "You said nothing to Mrs. Kesselbach either?"