And now he was taken from her, arrested for forgery! The word impressed Juliet with a sore sense of disgrace, and awoke in her heavy misgivings, though she tried hard to persuade herself that it must be a mistake, and Algernon would soon be set at liberty. But meanwhile she had to act for herself, and though she tried hard to rally her courage, terror of the unknown filled her mind, and made her dread the moment when the cab should reach the hotel.
She sat up and looked out at the thoroughfares through which she was passing. The tall houses with their outside shutters closed against the morning sun; the restaurants just opened, with sleepy-looking waiters arranging little tables and chairs beneath an awning on the pavement; the fruit vendors setting out their fresh merchandise, ticketed with prices which seemed to Juliet, unused to reckoning by centimes, preposterously high; the large open spaces, the lines of trees, the fountains, the flowers—she looked on all with dull eyes, seeing in them only what was foreign and unfriendly. Could this be Paris, the gayest city in the world, which she had always longed to see? And could it be herself, Juliet Tracy, who was travelling through it alone, oppressed by a sense of loneliness and fear which amounted almost to despair?
The hotel to which Algernon Chalcombe had directed the cabman to drive was but a third-rate house, though with a reputation for good cookery and good wine, which caused it to be frequented by artists of various kinds, and by such persons generally as had more wit than cash. It was the last hotel at which a young English lady might be expected to present herself alone. It stood amid old and narrow streets, and its porte-cochère was in one of the narrowest; but it had a tolerably spacious courtyard of its own on to which the public rooms opened.
When Juliet drove into it on this Wednesday morning, there was already some stir about the place, other travellers having arrived by early trains. Several persons were standing at the entrance, and Juliet felt the wonder and curiosity of their gaze as she alighted in nervous haste from the vehicle. She had been searching her memory as she drove along for such French phrases as were likely to prove useful now, and she thought herself tolerably prepared for the ordeal before her.
But when she encountered curious stares, and heard the bewildering foreign accents, her wits deserted her, and she could but stammer something of which chambre was the only intelligible word. This was enough, however, for the obsequious waiter who came to meet her. He at once took possession of her travelling bag and wraps, and invited her to follow him into the hotel. There he speedily summoned from the bureau "Madame," who counted amongst her accomplishments that of speaking English.
Juliet found herself confronted by a stout but active woman of middle age, clad in a frowsy dressing-gown, with her hair undressed, and the appearance of one who has but just risen from her bed. Her déshabillé condition, however, afforded madame not the slightest embarrassment. She greeted the newly-arrived guest in the most dignified and affable way, at the same time observing her with a keen scrutiny which heightened the colour in Juliet's cheeks.
"Mademoiselle is English. I speak English—it is not much. Mademoiselle travels alone? They are so courageous, the English misses."
"I am not alone," Juliet began confusedly, "at least, I mean—there was a gentleman with me—but he was unexpectedly detained—and I had to come on alone. He will be here soon, I hope."
A curious expression came to the woman's face as she listened. She smiled a peculiar, meaning smile, which made Juliet suddenly mindful of the strange circumstances under which she had come to Paris, and of the fact that this was to have been her wedding day. Her colour deepened, her head drooped; she felt overwhelmed with shame and confusion.
The woman eyed her more curiously. She shrewdly conjectured that something was wrong; but it was no business of hers. She was not wont to trouble herself concerning the characters or histories of those who came to her hotel. But one consideration had weight with her—the question of whether or not such strangers could pay. Her scrutiny of Juliet's appearance inclined her to believe that she had money, and she smiled on her more affably than before.