"No, I saw a light in her boudoir. She will see me."
He did not even wait for Mrs. Kesselbach to send out an answer. He walked into the boudoir almost upon the maid's heels, dismissed her and said to Dolores:
"I have to speak to you, madame, on an urgent matter. . . . Forgive me . . . I confess that my behavior must seem importunate. . . . But you will understand, I am sure. . . ."
He was greatly excited and did not seem much disposed to put off the explanation, especially as, before entering the room, he thought he heard a sound.
Yet Dolores was alone and lying down. And she said, in her tired voice:
"Perhaps we might . . . to-morrow. . . ."
He did not answer, suddenly struck by a smell that surprised him in that boudoir, a smell of tobacco. And, at once, he had the intuition, the certainty, that there was a man there, at the moment when he himself arrived, and that perhaps the man was there still, hidden somewhere. . . .
Pierre Leduc? No, Pierre Leduc did not smoke. Then who?
Dolores murmured:
"Be quick, please."