"That man, I say—have you seen him before?... I remember."
The waiter hastened to agree, obviously wishing to discover the reason of Pauline's agitation.
"Yes," he said. "Now you mention it, mademoiselle, I remember too. He was outside—there—in the corridor—just after I had shown M. Collingwood and you and madame to your rooms."
"Was that when we arrived?" Pauline asked. Her brown hands were trembling, her eyes were informed with anxiety.
Jacques bent his head forward. The two were vis-à-vis—he watched her intently.
"Yes," he answered.
Then Pauline seemed to lose all her caution. She threw up her hands and her face became wrinkled with excitement.
"La! la!" she cried, "but he was looking at madame's boxes at Boulogne...."
With quiet but hurried steps she went up to the door leading to the corridor, turned the handle gently, flung it open and gazed out.
There was obviously nobody there, for in a moment she returned, closed the door, and once more confronted the waiter with a grey and troubled face.