"Quite," I assured her.
In a few moments we turned into the Rue de St. Antoine and drew up before Monsieur Feurgéres' house. In the hall we met Tobain. I could see that she had been weeping, and her tone, as she took me a little on one side, was full of anxiety.
"Monsieur," she murmured, "I am afraid——"
I stopped her.
"The young lady first," I said. "She has been ill. Where shall I take her?"
She threw open the door of the dining-room. A small round table, elegantly appointed, was spread with such a supper as Feurgéres knew well how to order. There was a gold foiled bottle, flowers, salads and fruits. Tobain nodded vigorously as she drew up a chair for Isobel.
"It was Monsieur himself who ordered everything," she exclaimed. "He was so particular that everything should be of the best, and the wine he fetched himself."
"Where is Monsieur Feurgéres?" I asked, struck by some note of hidden feeling in her tone.
"I will take you to him," she answered, "if Mademoiselle will wait here."
In the hall she no longer concealed her fears.