"She is well disguised, but there's no mistaking her!"
Without losing sight of the woman he was watching, Fandor reached the Metropolitan Station.
"Good Lord! What does this mean?" he muttered. "Where is she off to? She's taking a first-class ticket. Can she have an appointment with Chaleck?" He also took a ticket behind the young woman and reached the platform.
"I'm going where she goes," he thought. "But where the devil are we bound for?"
Loupart's mistress was the embodiment of a charming Parisian.
Her gown was tailor-made, of navy blue, plain but perfectly cut; she wore little shoes with high heels, and no one would have recognised in the well-dressed woman, who got out of the Metropolitan at the Lyons Station, the burnisher, who, a little while ago, had left Lâriboisière.
Josephine had scarcely taken a few steps on the great Square which divides Boulevard Diderot from the Lyons Station, when a young man, quietly dressed, came toward her. He ogled her, then in a voice of marked cordiality, said:
"Can I say a few words to you?"
"But, sir——"
"Two words, mademoiselle, I beg of you."