“And questioned her?”
“I asked her who he was.”
“Her answer?”
“She said he gave his name as Henri Clairvaux, of Paris.”
“Then it is not Bunol, sister. Why are you so agitated? It is merely a resemblance. Were we to see his face, I am sure it would prove to be that of a perfect stranger.”
Suddenly she shrank back, lowering the curtain until she had partly concealed herself behind it.
“Look!” she exclaimed. “He has stopped before entering the woods! He has turned to look back! He has pushed the hat up from his forehead to get a better view! Look, Dunbar! Even at this distance you cannot fail to recognize him!”
“By Jove, you’re right, Nadia! It is Bunol, himself! Satan take the scoundrel! What is he trying to do?”
“He has located us here, and he will try to get you into his clutches again, Dunbar.”
“Confound him! He wants to keep away from me! I’ve had enough of him! He’ll find his day with me is past! He is wasting his time.”