The doctor staggered back against the wall, his face working in a sudden convulsion. It was as though the servant had struck him a heavy blow between the eyes.
"Yes, monsieur. Her bed has not been slept in. The Marquis de Castellux is not to be found either. We have inquired among the guests. No one has seen them since they left the salon last night."
No articulate word came from Legrand, only a growl like that of an angry animal. He rushed to mademoiselle's room, then to the one Monsieur de Castellux had occupied temporarily. In a few moments the house was being searched from cellar to garret, every room was entered, whether the guests expostulated or not, but there was no sign of the fugitives, nor anything to show how they had gone. No one noticed that the window at the end of the passage had been unfastened.
A little later Dr. Legrand hurried along the Rue Charonne, caring nothing that people looked after him. He was a doctor of lunatics, they said, possibly he had gone mad himself. They laughed and took no further notice of him. He traversed several streets in the Faubourg St. Antoine, evidently familiar ground to him, and presently entered a tumbledown tenement. Going hastily to the top floor, he knocked with his knuckles at a closed door, two low, single knocks, and a double one. It was evidently a signal, for the door was opened at once and Lucien Bruslart stood before him.
"So soon!" he exclaimed.
Legrand entered, pushing Bruslart back into the room, and shut the door.
"She's gone! Escaped! Last night!"
Bruslart showed no sign of surprise. He sat on the edge of the table and waited for more information. Legrand had no more to give. In his hurried journey from the Rue Charonne he had thought of many things, and now made no mention of the fact that another of his guests had also disappeared.
"How did she manage to escape out of your clutches?" asked Bruslart, after a pause.
"I don't know, and does it matter? She is gone, that is enough."