"Adieu, Madame." He took the dry hand kindly. "It was no doubt the loss of the boy which has made Madame nervous, not well. It has preyed on your mind, Madame."
"It has," she rasped out bitterly, "and always will. Well, adieu, Monsieur."
Dr Legrand wrote an entry in his book: "Mrs Eva Smith of West Kensington, London."
"And yet," he said to himself, "she looked more angry than sorrowful."
Pulling down her thick veils, Esmé followed the man-servant across the hall. She had dressed very plainly, hidden her face by thick black gauze and net.
A little dark man was coming on to the steps, whistling cheerily. Seeing him Esmé started and jumped into her waiting taxi.
The little man passed her, went into the doctor's, as one who had an appointment. For a moment he, too, had hurried, but the taxi had sped past him.
"A cher Nonno," he cried, gripping the Frenchman's hand.
"A la bonne heure, Luigi."
"So Milady Blakeney comes to consult you," Luigi said. "She passed me."