I stood dumbfounded. I had recognised Bérangère's voice:
"Bérangère," I muttered, "calling on me for help. . . ."
Without even pausing to think, I rushed to the station.
A train took me to Saint-Cloud and another two stations further. Wading through the mud, under the pelting rain, and losing my way in the dark, I covered the mile or two to Bougival on foot, arriving in the middle of the night. The Blue Lion was closed. But a small boy dozing under the porch asked me if I was M. Victorien Beaugrand. When I answered that I was, he said that a lady, by the name of Bérangère, had told him to wait for me and take me to her, at whatever time I might arrive.
I trudged beside the boy, through the empty streets of the little town, to the banks of the Seine, which we followed for some distance. The rain had stopped, but the darkness was still impenetrable.
"The boat is here," said the boy.
"Oh, are we crossing?"
"Yes, the young lady is hiding on the other side. Be very careful not to make a noise."
We landed soon after. Then a stony path took us to a house where the boy gave three knocks on the door.
Some one opened the door. Still following my guide, I went up a few steps, crossed a passage lighted by a candle and was shown into a dark room with some one waiting in it. Instantly the light of an electric lamp struck me full in the face.