Already he was starting in the direction of the spot where his carriage was waiting for him. The old beau stopped him.
“Don’t bother yourself, my dear friend,” he said. “I have also a servant who is no fool; and he has had orders for over fifteen minutes.”
The others burst out laughing.
“Distanced, Costeclar!” exclaimed M. Saint Pavin, who, notwithstanding his slovenly dress and cynic manners, seemed perfectly well received.
No one was now paying any attention to Maxence; and he slipped off without the slightest care as to what M. Costeclar might think. Reaching the spot where his cab awaited him,
“Which way, boss?” inquired the driver. Maxence hesitated. What better had he to do than to go home? And yet . . .
“We’ll wait for that same carriage,” he answered; “and we’ll follow it on the return.”
But he learned nothing further. Mlle. Lucienne drove straight to the Boulevard du Temple, and, as before, immediately resumed her eternal black dress; and Maxence saw her go to the little restaurant for her modest dinner.
But he saw something else too.
Almost on the heels of the girl, a servant in livery entered the hotel corridor, and only went off after remaining a full quarter of an hour in busy conference with Mme. Fortin.