Lady Montbarry abruptly lifted her hands with a gesture of entreaty. “Ah, Miss Lockwood, don’t waste time by talking of his wife! Answer my plain question, plainly!” “Let me answer her,” Henry whispered. “I will undertake to speak plainly enough.” Agnes refused by a gesture. Lady Montbarry’s interruption had roused her sense of what was due to herself. She resumed her reply in plainer terms. “When Ferrari wrote to the late Lord Montbarry,” she said, “he did certainly mention my name.” Even now, she had innocently failed to see the object which her visitor had in view. Lady Montbarry’s impatience became ungovernable. She started to her feet, and advanced to Agnes. “Was it with your knowledge and permission that Ferrari used your name?” she asked. “The whole soul of my question is in _that_. For God’s sake answer me—Yes, or No!” “Yes.” That one word struck Lady Montbarry as a blow might have struck her. The fierce life that had animated her face the instant before, faded out of it suddenly, and left her like a woman turned to stone. She stood, mechanically confronting Agnes, with a stillness so wrapt and perfect that not even the breath she drew was perceptible to the two persons who were looking at her. Henry spoke to her roughly. “Rouse yourself,” he said. “You have received your answer.” She looked round at him. “I have received my Sentence,” she rejoined—and turned slowly to leave the room. To Henry’s astonishment, Agnes stopped her. “Wait a moment, Lady Montbarry. I have something to ask on my side. You have spoken of Ferrari. I wish to speak of him too.” Lady Montbarry bent her head in silence. Her hand trembled as she took out her handkerchief, and passed it over her forehead. Agnes detected the trembling, and shrank back a step. “Is the subject painful to you?” she asked timidly. Still silent, Lady Montbarry invited her by a wave of the hand to go on. Henry approached, attentively watching his sister-in-law. Agnes went on. “No trace of Ferrari has been discovered in England,” she said. “Have you any news of him? And will you tell me (if you have heard anything), in mercy to his wife?” Lady Montbarry’s thin lips suddenly relaxed into their sad and cruel smile. “Why do you ask _me_ about the lost courier?” she said. “You will know what has become of him, Miss Lockwood, when the time is ripe for it.” Agnes started. “I don’t understand you,” she said. “How shall I know? Will some one tell me?” “Some one will tell you.” Henry could keep silence no longer. “Perhaps, your ladyship may be the person?” he interrupted with ironical politeness. She answered him with contemptuous ease. “You may be right, Mr. Westwick. One day or another, I may be the person who tells Miss Lockwood what has become of Ferrari, if—” She stopped; with her eyes fixed on Agnes. “If what?” Henry asked. “If Miss Lockwood forces me to it.”