"I think so. I'll see."
Hurrying away he soon returned with a letter in his hand.
"Are you the one to whom it is addressed?" he asked, with deep respect.
"I am Lady Chetwynde," said Hilda, and at the same time eagerly snatched the letter from his hand. On the outside she at once recognized the writing of Gualtier. She saw the address, "Lady Chetwynde." In an instant she tore it open, and read the contents.
The letter contained only the following words:
"FRANKFORT, HÔTEL ROTHSCHILD, October 30, 1859.
"We leave for Baden to-day. Our business is progressing very favorably. We go to the Hôtel Français at Baden. If you come on you must follow us there. If we go away before your arrival I will leave a note for you."
The letter was as short as a telegram, and as unsatisfactory to a mind in such a state as hers. It had no signature, but the handwriting was Gualtier's.
Hilda's hand trembled so that she could scarcely hold it. She read it over and over again. Then she turned to the landlord.
"What time does the next train leave for Baden?" she asked.