"You will allow me to take my chance of finding you?" asked M. de Bois, forcibly struck by his friend's altered appearance. "Or," he added, "you will come to see me instead? I am at the Hotel Meurice at present."
"Thank you," said Maurice, absently, and glancing around him at the passers-by as he spoke. "Good-morning."
M. de Bois would not be shaken off thus unceremoniously. He was too much distressed by the evident mental condition of the viscount. He turned and walked beside him, though conscious that Maurice looked annoyed.
"When we parted, did you go to Scotland, as you pro—o—po—sed?" inquired Gaston.
"Yes; but Lady Vivian was in London. I sought her there. She knew nothing of my cousin. I returned to Paris; for I am sure Madeleine is here."
"Here?" almost gasped M. de Bois, stopping suddenly.
Maurice walked on without even noticing the strange confusion that arrested his companion's steps.
The latter recovered himself and rejoined him, asking, in as unconcerned a tone as he could command, "What has caused you to think so?"
"I am certain of it;—her passport was taken out for England, but it has not been viséd in Paris. She must be here still, and I know that I shall find her. I have walked the streets day after day, hoping to meet her, and I tell you I shall—I must!"
M. de Bois, whose equanimity had only been disturbed for a moment, shook his head sorrowfully, saying, "I fear not; it does not seem likely."