“There . . . opposite . . . under the window . . .”
It was a little window overlooking the river. The panes were broken.
“Well?” asked Don Luis. “What? Yes, I believe some one’s been thrown out that way.”
“The veil . . . that blue veil,” stammered Patrice, “is her nurse’s veil . . . Coralie’s. . . .”
Don Luis grew vexed:
“Nonsense! Impossible! Nobody knew her address.”
“Still . . .”
“Still what? You haven’t written to her? You haven’t telegraphed to her?”
“Yes . . . I telegraphed to her . . . from Mantes.”
“What’s that? Oh, but look here. This is madness! You don’t mean that you really telegraphed?”