"Monsieur has arrived?" the woman demanded breathlessly.
The proprietor of the restaurant himself bowed a reply. His client was evidently well known to him.
"Monsieur has ascended some few minutes ago."
The woman drew a little sigh of relief. A vague misgiving had troubled her during the last few hours. She raised her veil as she mounted the narrow staircase which led to the one private room at the Hôtel de Lorraine. Here she was safe; one more exploit accomplished, one more roll of notes for the hungry fingers of her dress-maker.
She entered, without tapping, the room at the head of the stairs, pushing open the ill-varnished door with its white-curtained top. At first she thought that the little apartment was empty.
"Are you there?" she exclaimed, advancing a few steps.
The figure of a man glided from behind the worn screen close by her side and stood between her and the door.
"Madame!" Peter said, bowing low.
Even then she scarcely realised that she was trapped.
"You!" she cried. "You, Baron! But I do not understand. You have followed me here?"