For a minute or two I wandered about,—asked Hatty if she were tired (this was her first evening in the drawing-room with company), and when she said, “Not yet,” I inquired after Puck’s health from Mrs Newton, told Miss Emma Page that Grandmamma had been admiring her sister’s dress, and slipped out of the door when I arrived at it. In my room Lucette was standing with the cloak ready to throw over me.
“Monsieur Ebaté is at the escalier dérobé,” said she. Poor Lucette could get no nearer Hebblethwaite. “He tell me, this night, Mademoiselle goes on an errand for the good Lord. May the Lord keep safe His messenger!”
“Mr Hebblethwaite goes with me,” said I. “He will take all the care of me he can.”
“I will trust him for that!” said Lucette, with a little nod. “He is good man, celui-là. But, Mademoiselle, ‘except the Lord keep the city—’ you know.”
“‘The watchman waketh but in vain.’ Yes, Lucette, I know, in every sense. But how do you know that Mr Hebblethwaite is a good man?”
“Ah! I know, I. And I know what makes him stay in London, all same. Now Mademoiselle is ready, and Caesar is at the door, là-bas.”
Down-stairs I ran, joined Ephraim, who also wore a large cloak over his evening dress, and we went out of the back-door, which was guarded by Caesar, whose white teeth and gleaming eyes were all I could see of him in the dusk.
“Lucette asked leave to take Caesar into the affair,” said Ephraim. “She promised to answer for him as for herself. Now, Cary, we must step out: there is no time to lose.”
“As fast as you please,” said I.
In a few minutes, we came to Mr Raymond’s house. I never knew before where he lived. It is in a small house in Endell Street. An elderly woman opened the door, who evidently expected us, and ushered us at once into a living-room on the right hand. Here I saw Mr Raymond and a lady—a lady past her youth, who had, as I could not help seeing, been extreme beautiful. I thought there was no one else till I heard a voice beside me: