Thereupon Ralph drove his attack home, saying: “Doesn’t it follow that since the four of us are seeking the incalculable treasure of the old monasteries, when our paths cross we come into collision? That’s what must happen.” The treasure of the monasteries! The block of granite! The ten thousand precious stones! To Beaumagnan each phrase was the stroke of a hammer. Here was another rival to be dealt with! The Countess of Cagliostro out of the way, at once another competitor enters the race for the millions! Godfrey d’Etigues and de Bennetot exchanged ferocious glances and expanded their chests in the manner of athletes about to plunge into a contest. Beaumagnan stiffened in his chair in his effort to recover his coolness. He felt that he would need it all. “Legends!” he cried scornfully, striving to keep his voice steady and pick up the dropped thread of his ideas. “Old women’s gossip! Nursery tales! Is that what you waste your time on?” “No more than you,” said Ralph in a pleasant tone, not wishing Beaumagnan to recover his balance but rather to upset him yet more thoroughly. “Everything you do has some connection or other with this treasure. And not more than the Cardinal de Bonnechose did. I suppose his memorandum was old women’s gossip. Not more than the dozen friends, of whom you are the leader and inspirer, do.” “Goodness, how well informed you are!” said Beaumagnan ironically. “Better informed a great deal than you imagine,” said Ralph quietly. “And from whom did you get this precious information?” said Beaumagnan with a sneer. “From a woman.” “A woman?” Beaumagnan repeated: and there was a sudden note of anxiety in his voice. “From Josephine Balsamo, Countess of Cagliostro.” There came a groan from the Baron, a muttered oath from de Bennetot; and Beaumagnan cried in a tone of amazed dismay: “Josephine Balsamo! Then you knew her!” Ralph saw his way clearly. Just to drop the name of Josephine in the discussion had been enough to throw his enemies into the worst confusion, and in that confusion he was resolved to keep them. Indeed, so great was that confusion that Beaumagnan had committed the irremediable error of speaking of her as if she were no longer alive. Ralph smiled at him, a disquieting smile. “D-D-Did you know her? When did you know her? Where? What did she tell you?” stammered Beaumagnan. “I knew her at the beginning of last winter, as you did, monsieur,” said Ralph, pressing his offensive. “And I enjoyed her acquaintance all through the winter till the very moment that I had the pleasure of meeting the daughter of the Baron d’Etigues. I saw her nearly every day.” “You lie, sir!” cried Beaumagnan. “She couldn’t have seen you every day! She would have mentioned your name. I was a sufficiently close friend of hers for her not to have kept a secret of that kind from me.” “She kept that one,” said Ralph drily.