Her demeanor was really so extraordinary that it attracted the attention of the passers-by. She saw this, and slackening her pace, tried to become more composed. At the spot the grocer had indicated, she perceived several show frames filled with photographs hanging on either side of a broad, open gateway, above which ran the name, “E. Carjat.” She went in, and seeing a man standing at the door of an elegant pavilion on the right-hand side of a large courtyard, she approached him, and asked for his employer.
“He is here,” replied the man. “Does madame come for a photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Then will madame be so kind as to pass in. She will not be obliged to wait long. There are only four or five persons before her.”
Four or five persons! How long would she be obliged to wait?—half an hour—two hours? She had not the slightest idea. But she DID know that she had not a second to lose, that Madame Leon might return at any moment, and find the letter missing; and, to crown all, she remembered now that she had not even locked the drawer again. “I cannot wait,” she said, imperiously. “I must speak to M. Carjat at once.”
“But——”
“At once, I tell you. Go and tell him that he must come.”
Her tone was so commanding, and there was so much authority in her glance, that the servant hesitated no longer. He ushered her into a little sitting-room, and said, “If madame will take a seat, I will call monsieur.”
She sank on to a chair, for her limbs were failing her. She was beginning to realize the strangeness of the step she had taken—to fear the result it might lead to—and to be astonished at her own boldness. But she had no time to prepare what she wished to say, for a man of five-and-thirty, wearing a mustache and imperial, and clad in a velvet coat, entered the room, and bowing with an air of surprise, exclaimed: “You desire to speak with me, madame?”
“I have a great favor to ask of you, monsieur.”