“‘And now a few words about Connie and her Count. I’ve talked to him several times, and he’s like some poisonous thing in a stagnant pond. I do wish you could persuade her to leave him, for he insults and humiliates her at every turn. She confessed to me yesterday what I already suspected—that he had gambled away most of his money and much of hers at Monte Carlo, and that he is constantly demanding more. I think it would be advisable for Eric to come here if he possibly can. She is frightened, and her nerves are on edge. I suppose he threatens her, poor woman. What do you think ought to be done?’”
“He stopped there,” said Madame Claire, “and finished the letter next day. I’ll read you the rest.
“‘I was interrupted yesterday by Miss McPherson, who wouldn’t let me write more. So I left the letter open, and I’m glad I did, for there’s a sequel. Connie left here this morning for Paris, without a word to anybody. I thought she would have written me a letter to say good-bye, but she hasn’t. I don’t know what brought matters to this head, but I suspect it had something to do with Mademoiselle Pauline, the dancer, with whom the Count has been spending much of his time, and more, I imagine, of his money. Miss McPherson, who has her human side, has taken a considerable interest in Connie’s affairs, and tells me she is sure there was a scene of some sort last night. However that may be, Connie has gone. They told me at the office that she went to Paris, but left no forwarding address. Well, my dear Claire, I fear all this will distress you, but you have a brave heart, and would wish to know. If you have any idea where Connie would be likely to have gone, to what friends or to what hotel, I cannot help thinking it would be wise to send Eric to look for her. I say this because she seemed to me a desperately unhappy woman.’
“That’s all about that,” said Madame Claire, putting the letter away.
“What do you think ought to be done?” Judy asked her.
“Eric is coming here to-night, and I’ll talk it over with him. If he can spare the time to go to Paris, I think it would be a good thing.”
“But if he doesn’t know where she is?”
“I think I can guess,” answered her grandmother. “Years ago, before the children were grown up, we used to go and stay at a little private hotel off the Avenue de la Grande Armée. In the autumn I recommended it to a friend of your mother’s, and she was delighted with it. Judging from her description, I don’t think it can have changed much. She told me that the granddaughter of the old Madame Peritôt remembered me perfectly and said that Connie, whom she described as ‘la belle Madame,’ often went there when she wished to be quiet. I feel sure she would wish to be quiet now, and I believe that if Eric goes there he will find her.”
“Do you want him to bring her to London?” inquired Judy.
“I think I had better leave that to him,” answered Madame Claire.