He had waited for fully half an hour, when a cab drove up. Two women alighted from it. The one was eminently aristocratic in appearance, while the other looked like a respectable servant. Paul drew closer; and, in spite of a thick veil, recognized the features he had seen in the photograph.
“Ah!” said he, “after all, Rose is more to my taste, and I will get back to her. We will pay up Loupins, and get out of his horrible den.”
CHAPTER VIII.
MADEMOISELLE DE MUSSIDAN.
Paul had not been the only watcher; for at the sound of the carriage wheels the ancient portress took up her position in the doorway, with her eyes fixed on the face of the young lady. When the two women had ascended the stairs, a sudden inspiration seized her, and she went out and spoke to the cabman.
“Nasty night,” remarked she; “I don’t envy you in such weather as this.”
“You may well say that,” replied the driver; “my feet are like lumps of ice.”
“Have you come far?”
“Rather; I picked them up in the Champs Elysees, near the Avenue de Matignon.”