“Ride back to town with this note,” said he, “to be given to Lady Dubarry herself. Do it in half an hour. Then get home to St. Claude street, where you will await Signora Lorenza, who will soon be coming home. Let her pass without staying her or saying anything.”
At the same time he said “He would!” Fritz laid spur and whip on Sultan, who sprang off, astonished at this unaccustomed aggression, with a painful neigh.
Balsamo rode on by the Paris Road, entering the capital in three quarters of an hour, almost smooth of face and calm in eye—if not a little thoughtful.
The mesmerist had reasoned correctly: as rapid as Dejerrid the steed might be, it was not as swift as the will, and that alone could outstrip Lorenza escaped from her prison-house.
As Andrea—the other medium had clearly seen, the vengeful Italian had found her way to the residence of Lieutenant Sartines.
Questioned by an usher, she replied merely by these words:
“Are you Lord Sartines?”
The servant was surprised that this young and lovely woman, richly clothed and carrying a velvet-covered casket under her arm, should confuse his black coat and steel chain of office with the embroidered coat and perriwig of the Lieutenant of Police, though a foreigner. But as a lieutenant is never offended at being called a captain, and as the speaker’s eye was too steady and assured to be a lunatic’s, he was convinced that she brought something of value in the casket and showed her into the secretaries.
The upshot of all was that she was allowed to see the Minister of Police.
He sat in an octagonal room, lighted by a number of candles.