"Death!" growled the veiled woman, half frantic at what she considered proof of the justice of her jealous suspicions as strong as holy writ.
The man behind her was puzzled; astonished most at Mlle. Fouchette's osculatory performance; but he promptly seized the pursuer by the arm.
"Not so fast, mademoiselle!"
"Go! I must have that letter!"
She turned upon the man like an enraged tigress, the one big black eye ablaze with wrath.
"Ah! It is you, eh? And right under the nose of the Préfecture!"
"Au diable!" she half screamed, half roared, struggling to free herself from his iron grip. "It is none of your business."
"Your best friend, too!"
"Devil!" she shouted, striking at him furiously.
"Oh, no; not quite,—only an agent from the Préfecture, my bird."