"It is, Monsieur," said madame, frigidly. "I am Madame Delchasse."
"Pardon me, Madame," said the new-comer, "my name is Eddring, John
Eddring. I would not presume to come at such an hour were it not that
I have a message, a very urgent one, for Miss Loisson. She refused to
see me at the theater, and I came here; she must have this message.
It is not for myself that—"
Madame drew back into her carriage. "Monsieur," said she, "I say to you, bah! and again, bah!"
"You mistake," said Eddring, hurriedly. "It is only the message which I would have delivered. It is only on her account." Something in his voice caught the attention of madame, and she hesitated. "It is strange mademoiselle do not arrive," she said. "Monsieur Decherd should have brought her 'ome before this."
"Decherd!" cried Eddring.
"Mais oui. He is her fiance. What is it that it is to you, Monsieur?"
"Listen, listen, Madame!" cried Eddring, "We must find them. This message is one of life and death. Come, your carriage—" and before madame could expostulate the two were seated together in madame's carriage, and it was whirling back on the return journey to the Odeon.
Eddring fell on the doorkeeper. "Miss Loisson! Where is she? When did she leave?" he demanded; and madame added much voluble French.
"Mademoiselle left with a young gentleman a half-hour ago," said the doorkeeper. "I heard him say, 'Drive to the levee.' Perhaps they would see the high water, yes?"
"That's likely!" cried Eddring, springing back into the carriage, "but we will go there, too." Hence their carriage also whirled around corner after corner, and presently trundled along the smoother way of the levee. Passing between the interminably long rows of cotton-bales they met a carriage coming away as they approached, and Eddring, upon the mere chance of it, accosted the driver.