Ralph reflected. The questions were not easy to put since all of them must tend to throw light on the matter of which she refused to speak. He began: “First of all what is your name?” “Aurelie—Aurelie d’Asteux.” “Then why that name of Leonide Balli? Was it a pseudonym?” “Leonide Balli exists. She was ill and remained at Nice. Among the actors of her company, with whom I traveled from Nice to Marseilles, there was one I knew because I played Veronique last winter in some private theatricals. So they all begged me to take the place of Leonide Balli for one evening. They were so troubled and upset that I felt obliged to render them this service. We told the manager of the Toulouse theatre, who, at the last moment, decided to make no announcement of the change and let it be believed that I was Leonide Balli.” “Then you’re not an actress,” said Ralph in a tone of relief. “I am glad you’re not. I prefer that you should be simply the pretty boarder at Sainte-Marie.” She frowned and said coldly: “Continue.” “Well, the gentleman who knocked Marescal’s hat off when you came out of the confectioner’s on the Boulevard Haussmann, was he your father?” “My step-father.” “And his name?” “Bregeac.” “Bregeac?” “Yes, Director of Judicial Affairs at the Ministry of the Interior.” “And consequently Marescal’s chief?” “Yes. And they’ve always disliked one another. Marescal, who is strongly supported by the Minister himself, is trying to supplant my step-father, and my step-father is trying to get rid of him.” “And Marescal is in love with you?” “He asked my hand in marriage. I rejected him, and my step-father forbade him the house. He hates us and he has sworn to avenge himself.” “To pass from one to another, what is the name of the man of the Villa Faradoni?” Ralph asked. “Jodot.” “What’s his profession?” “I don’t know. He used to come to the house occasionally to see my step-father.” “And the third?” “William Ancivel. He used to come to the house too. He is on the stock exchange and engaged in other business.” “More or less doubtful?” “I don’t know—perhaps.” Ralph summed up the results of the conversation so far. “These then are your three enemies—for there aren’t any more, are there?” “Yes. My step-father,” she said sadly, “What? Your mother’s husband?” “My poor mother is dead.” “And are all these people persecuting you for the same reason—on account of the secret you know and they do not?” said Ralph thoughtfully. “Yes; except Marescal, who knows nothing about the secret and is only trying to take vengeance.” “Is it possible for you to give me any information, not about the secret itself, but about the circumstances connected with it?” he asked. She thought for a few moments and then said: “Yes, I can. I can tell you what the others know, the reason of their fury against me.” Up to then she had answered the questions briefly and dryly. Now she appeared to be really interested in what she was saying.