“He’s not here, mademoiselle,” said the young man, rising with great politeness. “He’s not been here this afternoon.”
But behind a desk, another clerk, whom she did not see, threw out, in a sour voice that betrayed a long-accumulating grudge:
“Go and ask Mrs. Frasne.”
Margaret blushed up to her ears, but thanked him, and without further delay went, in fact, and rang the bell of Mrs. Frasne’s apartment. She was told that madame had gone out. She was relieved for a moment by this news, but after a few steps, regretted it, for her best chance of finding her brother had been there. Where should she discover him now? She went next to Favre Street, to Mrs. Marcellaz, her sister-in-law, who was just coming back from a walk with her three children. Little Julian threw himself upon his aunt, and would not let himself be separated from her, while her sister replied, indifferently:
“No, Maurice is not here. He scarcely ever comes to see me.”
A bump that Adrienne had given herself and was fretting over took up all her further attention.
After these checks, Margaret began to search first one place, then another, in the town, without much hope, walking very fast, as if fear were at her heels. Underneath the Porticoes she passed her fiancé, who made a movement as if to stop her; she passed beyond him, then turned and came back to him a moment.
“Good-day, Raymond,” she said, without a moment to lose. “Haven’t you seen Maurice anywhere?”
“No, Margaret. Are you looking for him?”
“Yes.”