dressed and wearing mutton-chop whiskers. As I came out I raised my hat. The man appeared not to notice me, though his eyes fell on me for a moment. I passed quickly by—in fact, as quickly as I could—for it struck me at once that this man must be Lafleur, and I did not want him to give the duke a description of the unknown gentleman who was staying at Avranches. Yet, as I went, I had time to hear Marie’s slow musical voice say:
“I’m not coming at all to-day.”
I was very glad of it, and pursued my round of the town with a lighter heart. Presently, after half an hour’s walk, I found myself opposite the church, and thus nearly back at the hotel: and in front of the church stood Marie Delhasse, looking at the façade.
Raising my hat I went up to her, her friendliness of the evening before encouraging me.
“I hope you are going to stay to-day?” said I.
“I don’t know.” Then she smiled, but not mirthfully. “I expect to be very much pressed to go this afternoon,” she said.
I made a shot—apparently at a venture.
“Someone will come and carry you off?” I asked jestingly.
“It’s very likely. My presence here will be known.”
“But need you go?”
She looked on the ground and made no answer.
“Perhaps though,” I continued, “he—or she—will not come. He may be too much occupied.”
