"Poor Estrelle!" said the marquis after a moment; and the barber added in a low tone,—
"She would now be thirty-four years of age, or very near that."
This remark appeared to lessen somewhat the marquis' regret.
"In fact," said he, again approaching the fire, "she would be nearly that age if she were living, and would not appear the same to me as the one I formerly knew. How time passes! Come, let's forget all that; after all, it is much the same as any other adventure,—a chapter in the history of my life."
"And did the marquis say that the young girl lived in the Rue de la Calandre in the city?"
"The young girl? What young girl?"
"The one monseigneur followed this morning."
"Yes, to be sure; I had forgotten. You will easily recognize her: her figure unconstrained, her walk brisk; twenty years or thereabouts, I presume; nut-brown hair, black eyes, beautiful teeth, her skin a little brown. I do not think she's French. Something lively in her countenance; nothing that indicates timidity or simplicity. This is all the information which I can give you."
"It is sufficient, monseigneur; in two days I hope that the young person will be at your little house."
"That's very good.—Wait; this is for your expenses, and I promise you as much more if you are successful."