"Your own name, I presume, madame?" I said.
"My own name," she answered. "It makes no difference in what I sell."
"None at all," I said, briskly. "You were spoken of, I remember, as Madame Annette."
"That, also, is my name. May I ask, monsieur, by whom you were recommended?"
I watched her face keenly as I replied, "Madame, or rather, Mrs. Fordham."
As I uttered the name I observed a slight disturbance of the green curtain.
"Pardon me, monsieur," she said, and went into the private room, the door of which she carefully opened and shut.
"Now," thought I, "what is the meaning of this, and will it make any difference in Madame Lourbet's behavior?"
It made a perceptible difference. Something had passed between her and the person in the inner room which had put her on her guard, and she was watching me now as keenly as I was watching her.
"Madame Fordham," she remarked, with assumed indifference, continuing our conversation. "Who is Madame Fordham?"