Fouchette was nervous. She had been reminded of the letter by the first mention of the inspector's name. Had anybody found the letter? Was it there still? Supposing it had been lost! What was this letter, anyhow? It must be very important, or the senders would have mailed it in the regular way. She felt that she dared not betray its presence by pushing the demand for her clothing.
"It is very curious, too," added the doctor, "how that man could identify you by means of clothing he had never before seen. He probably had information from where you came, with your description."
"Y-yes, monsieur,—I——"
Fouchette had never thought of that. It did not comfort her, as may well be imagined.
"I'll speak to the nurse about the clothes——"
"Pardon! but it is unnecessary, doctor. I only wanted to know if they were—were safe, you know. No; never mind. I thank you very much. I shall need them only when I am removed, which I hope will be soon."
In the Rue St. Jacques stands an old weather-stained, irregular pile of stone, inconspicuous in a narrow, crooked street lined with similar houses. The grim walls retreat from the first floor to the roof, in the monolithic style of the Egyptian tomb. Beneath the first floor is the usual shop,—a rôtisserie patronized by the scholars of two centuries,—famed of Balzac, de Musset, Dumas, Hugo, and a myriad lesser pens.
The other houses of the neighborhood are equally oblivious to modern opinion. They consent to lean against each other while jointly turning an indifferent face to the world, like a man about whose ugliness there is no dispute. No two run consecutively with the walks, and all together present a sky-line that paralyzes calculation.
The historic street at this point is a lively market during the business day. Its sidewalks being only wide enough for the dogs to sun themselves without danger from passing vehicles, it is necessary for the passers to take that risk by walking in the roadway. Those who do not care to assume any risks go around by way of Rue Gay-Lussac,—especially after midnight, when the street enjoys its personal reputation. The Panthéon is just around the corner, and the ancient Sorbonne, Louis le Grand, and the College of France line the same street on the next block, and have stood there for some hundreds of years; but, all the same, timid people certainly prefer to reach them by a roundabout way rather than by this section of Rue St. Jacques.