The papers which were found carefully hidden in the clothing worn by the dead man, proved beyond a doubt his identity. Mathilde Stangerson was at last delivered from this monster of a husband to whom, through the facility of the American laws, she had given her hand in secret, in the unthinking ardour of girlish romance. This wretch, whose real name, according to court records, was Ballmeyer, and who had married her under the name of Jean Roussel, could no longer rise like a dark shadow between Mathilde and the man whom she had loved so long and so well, without daring to become his bride. In “The Mystery of the Yellow Room,” I have related all the details of this remarkable affair, one of the strangest which has ever been known in the annals of the Court of Assizes, and which, without doubt, would have had a most tragic denouement, had it not been for the extraordinary part played by a boy reporter, scarcely eighteen years old, Joseph Rouletabille, who was the only one to discover that Frederic Larsan, the celebrated Secret Service agent, was none other than Ballmeyer himself. The accidental--one might almost say “providential”--death of this villain, had seemed to assure a happy termination to the extraordinary story, and it must be confessed that it was undoubtedly one of the chief factors in the rapid recovery of Mathilde Stangerson, whose reason had been almost overturned by the mysterious horrors at the Glandier. “You see, my dear fellow,” said M. Henri-Robert to M. Andre Hesse, whose eyes were roving restlessly about the church, “you see, in this world, one can always find the bright side. See how beautifully everything has turned out--even the troubles of Mlle. Stangerson. But why are you constantly looking around you? What are you looking for? Do you expect anyone?” “Yes,” replied M. Hesse. “I expect Frederic Larsan.” M. Henri-Robert laughed--a decorous little laugh, in deference to the sanctity of the surroundings. But I felt no inclination to join in his mirth. I was an hundred leagues from foreseeing the terrible experience which was even then approaching us; but when I recall that moment and seek to blot out of my mind all that has happened since--all those events which I intend to relate in the course of this narrative, letting the circumstances come before the reader as they came before us during their development--I recollect once more the curious unrest which thrilled me at the mention of Larsan’s name. “What’s the matter, Sainclair?” whispered M. Henri-Robert, who must have noticed something odd in my expression. “You know that Hesse was only joking.” “I don’t know anything about it,” I answered. And I looked attentively around me, as M. Andre Hesse had done. And, indeed, we had believed Larsan dead so often when he was known as Ballmeyer, that it seemed quite possible that he might be once more brought to life in the guise of Larsan.