He declared that friendship, that pure, proud sentiment, that mixture of esteem and affection, of absolute confidence and sympathy, could not exist except between man and man. She averred that she had a friend upon whom she could depend just as he could upon Hautefeuille. And she had then spoken of Louise Brion. It was Ely's friend who was now dining a few feet away. And if she was regarding him with that singular persistence, it was because she knew.--What did she know?--Did she know that he had been Madame de Carlsberg's lover?--Without doubt that was it. Did she know that Pierre was her lover now? This time the idea became such a violent, such an imperious obsession that Olivier felt he could no longer stand it. Besides, was there not a means close at hand of learning the truth, and that immediately? Had not Corancez told them that he should finish the evening in the Casino? And he must certainly know, seeing that he had passed the winter with Hautefeuille and Madame de Carlsberg. "I will ask him about it openly, frankly," said Olivier to himself. "Whether he replies or not, I shall be able to read what he knows in his eyes.--He is so stupid!" Then he felt ashamed of such a proceeding, as though of a frightful indelicacy in regard to his friend. "That is what comes of a woman stealing in between two men. They become vile at once!--No, I will not try to get the facts of the case from Corancez. And yet--" Was Corancez stupid? It was impossible to be more mistaken about the wily Southerner. Unfortunately, he was at times too astute. And in the present case, his excessive subtlety made him commit the irreparable fault of definitely enlightening Olivier. For the scruples of this latter were, alas! powerless to withstand the temptation. After all he had thought, in spite of all he felt so clearly, he succumbed to the fatal desire to know. And when, about ten o'clock, he encountered Corancez in one of the rooms of the Casino, he asked him abruptly:-- "Is the Baroness Ely, of whom you spoke in the train, the Madame de Carlsberg I knew in Rome?--She was the wife of an Austrian archduke." "The very same," responded Corancez, saying inwardly: "Hallo! Hautefeuille has not said anything.--Du Prat knew her in Rome? Heaven grant he has no feeling in that quarter, and that he will not go chattering to Pierre!" Then, aloud, he said:-- "Why do you ask?" "For no reason," replied Olivier. There was a short silence. Then he said:-- "Is not my dear friend Hautefeuille somewhat in love with her?" "Ah! Now for it," thought the Southerner. "He'll be sure to learn all about it sooner or later. It had better be sooner. It will prevent mistakes." And he replied:-- "Is he in love with her? I saw it from the beginning. He simply worships her." "And she?" asked Olivier. "She?" echoed Corancez. "She is madly in love with him!" And he congratulated himself upon his perspicacity, saying to himself:--