“He being gone, as you say, will you be able to keep up your style of living?”
Half raising herself from her seat,
“I haven’t the slightest idea of doing so,” she exclaimed. “Never in the whole world have I had such a stupid time as for the last five months that I have spent in this gilded cage. What a bore, my beloved brethren! I am yawning still at the mere thought of the number of times I have yawned in it.”
M. de Tregars’ gesture of surprise was the more natural, that his surprise was immense.
“You are tired being here?” he said.
“To death.”
“And you have only been here five months?”
“Dear me; yes! and by the merest chance, too, you’ll see. One day at the beginning of last December, I was coming from—but no matter where I was coming from. At any rate, I hadn’t a cent in my pocket, and nothing but an old calico dress on my back; and I was going along, not in the best of humor, as you may imagine, when I feel that some one is following me. Without looking around, and from the corner of my eye, I look over my shoulder, and I see a respectable-looking old gentleman, wearing a long frock-coat.”
“M. Vincent?”
“In his own natural person, and who was walking, walking. I quietly begin to walk slower; and, as soon as we come to a place where there was hardly any one, he comes up alongside of me.”