"Parbleu! to see my sister. The pretty little lady who moved in to-day is my sister."
"I don't know anything about that, but you won't find her."
"What! has she gone out—alone?"
"No—with the young gentleman who brought her here; he came back just after you went away."
"Well! they'll be back soon, no doubt. Do you know which way they went?"
"No; and I don't think they'll be back for a long while. The gentleman sent for a cab, and put in the satchel of clothes they brought here this morning. Then he gave me the keys to the apartment, and said: 'Just air the rooms a little, now and then.'—And with that, he put the little lady in the cab, got in beside her, and good-day. It's my opinion they've left Paris."
"Gone! they have gone!" ejaculated Sans-Cravate. "Great God! Monsieur Albert probably thought that his father wouldn't forgive him; he was afraid he'd have to part with Liline. Oh! what a misfortune! But they'll write, I hope. Didn't my sister leave any word for me?"
"Not a word; but I saw she was crying when she got into the cab."
"She was crying—poor girl! and they'd have been so happy, if they had only waited for me!"
Sans-Cravate was in despair; but as he could learn nothing more from the concierge, he returned to Monsieur Vermoncey and told him of the abrupt departure of the lovers.