"And they are at home now?"
"I believe so," said the notary, eying him with more and more
astonishment. "They have been keeping close at home since their
return--they will permit no one to see the--invalid. There has been
much talk about it."
"Come, we must go!" I cried. "He must not get there before us!"
But a sudden light gleamed in the notary's eyes.
"Wait, messieurs!" he cried. "A moment. But a moment. Ah, I remember
it now--it was the link which was wanting, and you have supplied
it--Holladay, a millionaire of America, his wife, Madame Alix--she did
not live in the villa, then, messieurs. Oh, no; she was very poor, a
nurse--anything to make a little money; her husband, who was a
fisherman, was drowned, and left her to take care of the children as
best she could. Ah, I remember--one a mere baby!"
He had got down another book, and was running his finger rapidly down
the page--his finger all a-tremble with excitement. Suddenly, he
stopped with a little cry of triumph.
"Here it is, messieurs! I knew I could not be mistaken! See!"
Under the date of June 10, 1876, was an entry of which this is the
English:
"Holladay, Hiram W., and Elizabeth, his wife, of the city of New York,
United States of America; from Celeste Alix, widow of Auguste Alix,
her daughter Celeste, aged five months.
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