"It is not—anodder woman——?" she asked shrewdly.
"Another——? How can you ask? No. There are no other women in Paris, Piquette."
"You are cruel," she muttered in a low tone, her dark eyes flashing.
"No. It is a matter of importance. Will you let me have your address——?"
"No 82 Boulevard Clichy—de same place."
"Good. To-morrow I will write you."
Without a word she gathered up her cloak and led the way out, looking about curiously for her enemy of the evening. But Harry had disappeared. She said nothing and they went out into the street where Jim Horton found a cab and put her into it.
"Méchant!" she whispered softly.
"It is not my fault, Piquette. Soon——"
He gave the address to the cocher and she was gone.