"Is it possible he could be so imprudent as to tell you my name?" cried the female, with as much surprise as uneasiness.
"Certainly he did, madame, or how should I know it?"
"How very thoughtless!" murmured the stranger. Then, after a momentary hesitation, she said, impatiently, in a low voice, and as if fearful of being overheard, "My name is D'Orbigny."
Rodolph started at the word, as it reached his ear, for it was the name of Madame d'Harville's mother-in-law. Advancing, therefore, from the dark corner in which he stood, he managed, by the light of the lamp, to obtain a clear view of the stranger, in whose features he easily traced the portrait so skilfully drawn by Clémence of the author of all her sufferings.
"Madame d'Orbigny!" repeated Madame Pipelet, in a loud tone. "Ah, then you may go up-stairs; that is the name M. Bradamanti gave me."
Madame d'Harville's mother-in-law waited for no second bidding, but rapidly passed by the lodge.
"Well done us!" shouted the porteress, with a triumphant air; "I have caught my fish, done the great lady! Now, then, I know her name,—she is Madame d'Orbigny. That wasn't a bad scheme of mine, was it, M. Rodolph? But what the plague is the matter with you? How sad and thoughtful you have grown all of a minute!"
"This lady has been to see M. Bradamanti before, has she not?"
"Yes, she was here yesterday evening; and, directly she was gone, M. Bradamanti went out, most probably, to take his place in the diligence for to-day, because, when he came back, he asked me to take his trunk to the coach office, as he could not trust that little rascal, Tortillard."
"And do you know where M. Bradamanti is going?"