As Zilch sat down upon the sofa, there appeared upon the threshold of a door, opposite the one by which he had entered, a small, dark, elegantly dressed young man, whom Andras vaguely remembered to have seen somewhere, he could not tell where. The newcomer was irreproachable in his appearance, with his clothes built in the latest fashion, snowy linen, pale gray gloves, silver-headed cane, and a single eyeglass, dangling from a silken cord.
He bowed to Zilch, and, going up to the secretary, he said, rapidly:
“Well! since Tourillon is away, I will report the Enghien races. I am going there now. Enghien isn’t highly diverting, though. The swells and the pretty women so rarely go there; they don’t affect Enghien any more. But duty before everything, eh, Fremin?”
“You will have to hurry,” said Fremin, looking at his watch, “or you will miss your train.”
He clapped his confrere on the shoulder, bowed again to Zilah, and hurried away, while Fremin, turning to the Prince, said:
“I am at your service, Monsieur,” and waited for him to open the conversation.
Zilah drew from his pocket the copy of L’Actualite, and said, very quietly:
“I should like to know, Monsieur, who is meant in this article here.”
And, folding the paper, with the passage which concerned him uppermost, he handed it to the secretary.
“Yes, I have seen this paragraph,” he said; “but I am entirely ignorant to whom it alludes. I am not even certain that it is not a fabrication, invented out of whole cloth.”
“Ah!” said Zilah. “The author of the article would know, I suppose?”
“It is highly probable,” replied Fremin, with a smile.
“Will you tell me, then, the name of the person who wrote this?”
“A pseudonym is a name in literature,” said Fremin. “I am of the opinion, however, that one has always the right to demand to see a face which is covered by a mask. But the person who makes this demand should be personally interested. Does this story, to which you have called my attention, concern you, Monsieur?”
“Suppose, Monsieur,” answered Zilah, a little disconcerted, for he perceived that he had to do with a courteous, well-bred man, “suppose that the man who is mentioned, or rather insulted, here, were my best friend. I wish to demand an explanation of the person who wrote this article, and to know, also, if it was really a journalist who composed those lines.”