Something incapable of strict definition was now to Mudd as the supporting barrel. He clutched at the idea of old Monsieur de Mirabole, who had got young again without coming to much mischief; he felt that Simon in falling upon these two females had fallen amongst pillows. He told them of Simon's message, that he would call upon them later in the day, and they laughed.
"He will be safe with us," said Madame; "we will not let him come to 'arm. Do not be alarmed, Monsieur Mudd, the bon Dieu will surely protect an innocent so charming, so good—so much goodness may walk alone, even amongst tigers, even amongst lions; it will come to no 'arm. We will see that he returns to the Sharing Cross 'Otel—I will talk to 'im."
Mudd departed, relieved, so great is the power of goodness, even though it shines in the persons of an impoverished old French lady and a girl whose innocence is her only strength.
But his relief was not to be of long duration, for on entering the hotel, as before said, he met Bobby. "He's gone," said Bobby; "given me the slip; and he has two hundred-pound bank-notes with him, to say nothing of the rest."
"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd.
"Can he have gone to see that girl? What's her address?"
"What girl?" asked Mudd.
"The girl you took the flowers to."
"I've just been," said Mudd. "No, he wasn't there. Wish he was; it's an old lady."