“I’m afraid,” said Anastasia, blanching at the prospect.
“You mustn’t be,” I said bravely; “you have me to protect you. Remember you’re my wife.”
“Not by French law. But I will go with you, darleen. I know you are strong.”
She looked at me with undisguised admiration. I think that Anastasia really thinks I am a hero.
In the afternoon she returned from the hospital with cheering news. It was not going so badly with Rougette after all. She had had a wonderful escape. A great deal of the acid had lodged in her veil, and what she had got began a little below the left ear. Her neck and breast were burned badly, and she was suffering agony, but her beauty had been spared. By wearing collars of an extra height scarcely any one would suspect.
“Monsieur Lorrimer was there too. He’s so change. I nevaire see a man so serious. Truly, I sink he mean marry Rougette all right.”
Next morning, bright and early, we sallied forth to tackle the redoubtable Madame Séraphine. After reconnoitring cautiously we located her in her stall in the fish pavilion throned high amid her crates of escargots. As with beating hearts we approached we heard her voice in angry argot berating a meek wisp of a porter. Against the grey of her surroundings her face loomed huge and ruddy, and her eyes had the hard brightness of a hawk’s. Again I wondered how she could ever have been the mother of my gentle Anastasia.
“Your father must have been the most angelic of little men,” I murmured.
“He was,” she answered breathlessly.
“You’d better go first,” I suggested nervously.