"Where did you look for us, monsieur?"
"Why, in all the feather-shops on Rue Saint-Denis."
"Ah! you would have had to look a long while. We're not in the feather business now; we have changed."
"What are you in now?"
"Pearls; we string pearls."
"Ah! that's a very pretty trade. I have never worked in pearls myself, and yet I would have liked——"
"Here's our 'bus, Laurette—come. Adieu, monsieur!"
"In what quarter, please?"
"Rue des Arcis."
The young women climbed into the omnibus, and Cherami watched them ride away. He sighed, muttered a malediction against fate, tapped his trousers with his switch, and continued his promenade. But he had not walked a hundred yards, when he found himself face to face with a young lady dressed in mourning, who stopped and bestowed a gracious salutation upon him. Cherami bowed to the ground, for he had recognized Auguste Monléard's young widow.