After an awkward suspense of some minutes, Belleisle, in his turn, leaves the apartment, not without glancing significantly at the stranger, and expressively putting his finger to his lips to enjoin silence. Scarcely has he vanished when the third party rises, looks at Madeline, and, walking quietly over to her, says in English-- ‘Pardon me, but is that gentleman your husband?’ CHAPTER XII.--CAGED. Thus abruptly interrogated, Madeline goes red as crimson, and trembles violently. Then by a mighty effort she recovers herself, conquers the violent trembling of her hands, and raises her head. He repeats the question; whereupon Madeline turns her head coldly away. The movement is abrupt enough to send her _vis-à-vis_ straight from the room, but, curiously enough, he lingers. Madeline does not look at him, but she feels that he is examining her--his eyes search her face, her figure, her hands. With an impulsive movement she turns slightly, interlaces her fingers, so as to hide from his searching gaze the third finger of her left hand; then gives one quick glance at his face. ‘I do not know you, monsieur!’ ‘No, _Madame_.’ He lays unusual stress upon the title. ‘But the fact of your having used the English language must pass as my excuse for having addressed you at all. Can I be of any service to you?’ He asks the question slowly, but without a moment’s hesitation Madeline replies-- ‘No, no.’ The answer, which is more like a pitiful appeal than a cold dismissal, holds the man to his place. ‘I have arranged to leave here by the night train,’ he says; ‘but if I can be of the very slightest assistance to you, pray do not hesitate to say so. If you wish it, I will remain at hand!’ Again Madeline’s cheeks burn with a humiliating sense of shame. Perhaps that is the reason she carries her head so haughtily and infuses such a harshness into the tone of her voice. ‘There is no need for you to stay; you cannot be of any use to me; but I thank you for the offer, sir. Goodnight.’ And with a bow she brings the interview to a decided close, and walks to the other end of the room. For a moment or two the Englishman lingers. Although he stands at a distance, and with his face turned another way, Madeline can feel that he is watching her. At last, with a cold ‘Good-night, Madame,’ he leaves the room. She has turned to answer his ‘Good-night,’ and now her eyes are fixed upon the door. The flush upon her cheek burns more brightly than ever, and her hands have begun to tremble again; she bites her quivering lip and walks impetuously up and down the room.