“And you don’t know where she’s gone?”
“No, monsieur.”
I paid the messenger and walked away; it was useless to question him any further. Nicette had left her shop; what had become of her? what was she doing? was she living with Raymond? That seemed impossible. Could he have hired an apartment for her? I did not know what to think, but I hastened to Rue Saint-Florentin.
My concierge uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.
“Ah! there you are, monsieur! We really thought you must be dead! Do you know you’ve been away almost six months?”
“I know it, Madame Dupont. Give me my keys, please.”
“In a minute, monsieur, in a minute. I’ve taken good care of your rooms, I’ve had your furniture beaten every month, and I’ve scrubbed and——”
“Oh! I’m not at all disturbed. By the way, does Monsieur Raymond still live on my landing?”
“No, monsieur, no; he’s left, and in his place——”
“Do you know his address?”