passage and into a large hall which seemed strangely familiar to me,
there was a full-length portrait of my father standing right in front of
me. I stood staring with a gasp of astonishment, and turned to see the
cold grey eyes of my companion fixed upon me with a humorous glitter.

'You seem surprised, Monsieur de Laval,' said he.

'For God's sake,' said I, 'do not trifle with me any further! Who are
you, and what is this place to which you have taken me?'

For answer he broke into one of his dry chuckles, and, laying his skinny
brown hand upon my wrist, he led me into a large apartment. In the
centre was a table, tastefully laid, and beyond it in a low chair a
young lady was seated, with a book in her hand. She rose as we entered,
and I saw that she was tall and slender, with a dark face, pronounced
features, and black eyes of extraordinary brilliancy. Even in that one
glance it struck me that the expression with which she regarded me was
by no means a friendly one.

'Sibylle,' said my host, and his words took the breath from my lips,
'this is your cousin from England, Louis de Laval. This, my dear
nephew, is my only daughter, Sibylle Bernac.'

'Then you--'

'I am your mother's brother, Charles Bernac.'

'You are my Uncle Bernac!' I stammered at him like an idiot. 'But why
did you not tell me so?' I cried.