The man noticed her uneasiness and pulled down the blinds.
A terrible fear now seized her. Were they going to take her back to the Podvins?
This fear increased as the speed of the vehicle lessened and as Tartar began to move about impatiently. He was trying to get his nose under the curtain.
"Hold him down!" said the man in a low voice. He was afraid to touch the dog himself.
"Oh, monsieur!" she finally exclaimed, "we are not going to—to——"
"The Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, my little Fouchette," he put in, with a smile.
"Oh, mon Dieu! Please, monsieur! Take me anywhere else,—back to the Préfecture—to prison—anywhere but to this place! They'll kill me! Oh, they'll kill me, monsieur!"
"Bah! No, they won't, little one. We'll take care of that."
"But——"
"Besides," he continued, reassuringly, "we're not going to leave you there, so don't be afraid. Maybe you won't have to get out, or be seen even, if you do as I tell you. Have no fear."