She assured me that it was her intention never to go back to it, and this strengthened my hope that she would some day consent to become my wife.
Rayel had told her, during my illness, the strange story of his life.
She knew nothing, however, of his wonderful powers, until I had related to her some of the experiences which had revealed them to me.

He had said nothing to her, I learned, about our discovery of the picture.
"Who painted the remarkable portrait of you which we saw at the theatre ?" I asked her one day.
"It was painted, I believe, by a French nobleman, who presented it to me here in New York.

I suppose it looks a little as I did once, but it is certainly too flattering and much too maidenly for me now.
"The Frenchman is an impostor and worse," I said.

"The portrait was painted by Rayel and sold to a broker of the name of Paddington, from whom the Frenchman borrowed or bought it." Her amazement could scarcely be overestimated when I told her what occurred at Mr.Paddington's dinner-party.
"The Frenchman," she said, "has been paying me unwelcome attentions ever since the first night of my appearance in New York.

He became so odious to me at length that I refused to accept any of his gifts, and, in spite of the protests of my managers, returned everything he had sent me, including the portrait." I did not tell her that it was this same Frenchman to whom I was indebted for my wounds.