"She was, as I have said, of about nineteen, and she was not a Frenchwoman."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, in the first place, she spoke French not very well; and, in the second place, there was in her manner an assurance, a freedom from embarrassment, which a French girl of her station would not possess."
"Was she light or dark?"
"She was dark, sir, with bright black eyes, with which she looked at one very steadily. She was slightly built, of medium height, simply dressed, so far as I could see through the little window, not fashionably, but with good effect. However, what impressed me most was her calm assurance—almost American; but she was too dark to be of America."
Reading between the lines, Lépine suspected that the clerk had attempted to start a flirtation with the self-possessed unknown, and had been rebuffed. And yet, what he said was true—young girls in France were not, ordinarily, entrusted with the buying of railway tickets, especially for so considerable a journey.
"You are sure the tickets were to Paris?"
"Yes, sir; second-class. I remember distinctly giving her sixty-four francs in change."
"At what hour was this?"
"About eight o'clock, sir."