"Madame Dalmont, 40 Rue des Martyrs."
"Madame!" murmured the agent, "they are two ladies who live alone—one unmarried; the elder is evidently a widow, unless she is separated from her husband. An interesting and distinguished face, and most refined manners. The young lady is exceedingly pretty! refined, regular features—not red like most blondes; but with all that she doesn't come up to my enchanting brunette, who expects me to-morrow between two o'clock and five—at her hôtel.—Ah! I hear Madame Monin at last."
The servant returned without a sign of a bundle. Her master began at once to question her.
"Well, Madame Monin?"
"I did your errands, monsieur; I carried the Spanish costume back to the costumer, who said that monsieur had lost lots of spangles off the cloak."
"Indeed! he proposes to count the spangles, does he? Skip the details. Freluchon hasn't gone home, I suppose, as you haven't my clothes?"
"I beg your pardon, monsieur, your friend has been home, but he didn't stay long; he just changed his clothes, and then went right away again, saying to the concierge: 'I'm going to Rouen; I'll be back in four days.'"
"What! he's gone to Rouen? that's a good one! But didn't the concierge tell him that I had been there to get my clothes?"
"The concierge didn't think to tell Monsieur Freluchon till just as he came downstairs. But he was in a great hurry then; a lady was waiting for him in his cab and he drove right off. All he said was: 'That's all right! Chamoureau won't need his coat; he's got plenty of others.'"
"On my soul! this is too much! Freluchon is a villain! If I only had him here! Of course I have other clothes, but as one rarely has occasion to wear a frock coat, I have only one; that's quite enough; and now, thanks to Freluchon, I haven't that! I can't go to Rouen to ask him for his key, especially as I shouldn't know where to look for him in Rouen. Didn't he leave his key with the concierge?"