'You met her last night?' inquired the girl in excited tones.
'I danced with her at the Closerie des Lilas!'
'Oh no! Say you didn't. Caroline never frequented such a place,' pleaded the poor girl in the beseeching tone of one praying for mercy from a threatened weapon.
'It was there I made her acquaintance, too,' remarked O'Hara.
'There must be some mystery here,' said the stranger, pausing; 'you call your friend Caroline. I call her Marguerite, and she's known to the entire quarter by that name. We shan't speak about her reputation.' With a wink at O'Hara, 'De mortuis nil nisi bonum, with Swift's translation. Not meaning any compliment, she was more beloved than respected.'
'I don't understand you, monsieur, but I'm grateful to you both for your kindness. I'll thank you to let me alight as we arrive at the Place du Panthéon.'
The girl arose, but the effort was too much for her strength, and she tottered back helpless to the seat, crying:
'Oh, I am so weak! My head is on fire!'
'Rest where you are; we'll see you to your own door, and I'll have a doctor by your bedside in five minutes,' insisted the stranger with gentle violence. 'What's your street and number?'
'Rue de la Vieille Estrapade, thirty.'