Nevertheless, he slowly sauntered in the same direction, not daring to accost her and yet watchful of some recognition of his presence.
It was the same polite young man who had surrendered his place in the dance to Jean on the night of Mardi Gras. He had not gone twenty yards before a robust young woman heavily veiled brushed past him with an oath.
"Pardieu!" he said to himself, "but this seems to be a feminine chase." And he quickened his steps as if to take part in the hunt.
Reaching the corner, Mlle. Fouchette doubled around the Préfecture and made straight for the Hôtel Dieu.
Rapidly gaining on her in the rear came the veiled woman, evidently growing more and more agitated.
And immediately behind and still more swiftly came the sleuth from the Préfecture. To be sure, there were always plenty of people crossing the broad plaza of Notre Dame from various directions and three going the same way would not have attracted attention.
Mlle. Fouchette drew near the steps of the big hospital, taking a letter from her bosom.
"That letter! Sacré! I must have that letter!" murmured the veiled woman, aloud.
"But you won't get it," thought the agent, gliding closer after her.
Mlle. Fouchette kissed the superscription as she ran up the steps.