“So she is called, I believe,” went on the placid creature, oblivious of the little emotion she had caused. “Monsieur has heard of her, no doubt. She is beautiful, and of easy virtue, they say. At her house in the Rue de Rohan the most violent propagandists assemble nightly to discuss the overthrow of the present social conditions. I wish they would leave them alone: they are very reasonable, I think—to all at least who have assured incomes. She is quite a force in Paris, this woman. They sent her some time last year en mission to these Netherlands to preach the new religion. But she was arrested by the agents of the Emperor and conveyed to Vienna, whence she was dismissed no later than last January. Monseigneur was hunting with M. de Lawoestine at the time, and he heard somehow, and came straight on to Brussels, and carried the demoiselle Théroigne away.”
“And that was the last you have seen of him? Yet your mother had no doubt but that he was in this neighbourhood.”
“Oh, maman?” cried madame, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “But she is as full of fancies as this mushroom is of grubs.”
“Indeed,” said Ned, quite dumfoundered, “I think you must be misinformed as to monsieur le duc.”
“Very well,” she said indifferently. “It is possible, of course. M. de Lawoestine is not communicative, nor am I curious. There is no reason why they should not be in Liége together at this very moment.”
There was every reason, however, against such a meeting; but madame had not the shadow of a diplomatic acumen.
“I must follow your husband to Liége, then,” said Ned.
“You will at least lie here for the night, monsieur?”
“A thousand pardons, madame. My business is of the most pressing; and you yourself confess an ignorance as to the movements of monsieur le comte.”
“Mon Dieu! I never trouble my head about them.”