I speak of the Marquis de
Croisenois."
The Countess leaned back in her chair, and contracted her brow, and
pursed up her lips, as though vainly endeavoring to remember the name.
"The Marquis de Croisenois?" repeated she. "It seems as if----no--wait a
moment. No; I cannot say that I can call any such person to mind."
The doctor felt that he must give the spur to this rebellious memory.
"Yes, Croisenois," he repeated. "His Christian name was George, and he
had a brother Henry, whom you certainly must know, for this winter I saw
him at the Duchess de Laumeuse's, dancing with your daughter."
"You are right; I remember the name now."
Her manner was indifferent and careless as she said this.
"Then perhaps you also recollect that some twenty-three years ago,
George de Croisenois vanished suddenly. This disappearance caused a
terrible commotion at the time, and was one of the chief topics of
society."
"Ah! indeed?" mused the Countess.
"He was last seen at the Cafe de Paris, where he dined with some
friends. About nine he got up to leave. One of his friends proposed to
go with him, but he begged him not to do so, saying, 'Perhaps I shall
see you later on at the opera, but do not count on me.' The general
impression was that he was going to some love tryst.
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