“Yes.”

“This letter has been written, therefore, something tells me so, at least, on your account.”

“On my account?” repeated the unhappy girl, mechanically.

“And I, who saw the letter lying on Madame’s desk before she sealed it, fancied I could read — ”

“What did you fancy you could read?”

“I might possibly have been mistaken, though — ”

“Tell me, — what was it?”

“The name of Bragelonne.”

La Valliere rose hurriedly from her chair, a prey to the most painful agitation.