"To go where?"
"He did not say."
"Do you know whether he will be absent long?"
"I don't know."
"Much obliged."
Madame Desvarennes, quite discomfited by this mischance, reflected. Where could Pierre have gone? Probably to her house. Without losing a minute, she reentered the carriage, and gave orders to return to the Rue Saint-Dominique. If he had gone at once to her house, it was plain that he was ready to do anything to keep Micheline. The coachman who had received the order drove furiously. She said to herself:
"Pierre is in a cab. Allowing that he is driving moderately quick he will only have half-an-hour's start of me. He will pass through the office, will see Marechal, and however eager he be, will lose a quarter of an hour in chatting to him. It would be most vexing if he did anything foolish in the remaining fifteen minutes! The fault is mine: I ought to have sent him a letter at Marseilles, to tell him what line of conduct to adopt on his arrival. So long as he does not meet Micheline on entering the house!"
At that idea Madame Desvarennes felt the blood rushing to her face. She put her head out of the carriage window, and called to the coachman:
"Drive faster!"
He drove more furiously still, and in a few minutes reached the Rue
Saint-Dominique.