The street was so narrow and there were so many people about that he had to follow pretty closely in order to avoid losing her. He noted with some surprise that she walked straight ahead, as though with studied purpose, never faltering and never so much as glancing to the right or to the left.
Down the hill they went and so into the space about the cathedral, where busy women had set out their wares—poultry, pottery, vegetables and the like.
More than one head was turned to note the quick, silent passage of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch. Hers, indeed, was a physique which could not have escaped notice, no matter what its surroundings.
On the market-square, having a clearer view before him, Paul slackened his pace and allowed the distance to increase between them.
Still the beautiful Russian lady walked straight ahead, as one who follows an oft-trodden path and knows full well whither that path leads.
She moved up the cathedral steps, and as she did so Paul saw approaching the sombre figure of the black-bearded man whose presence in the little street by the Hôtel de la République had aroused his interest earlier in the morning.
But though their steps were evidently leading them to the same spot, neither the black-bearded man nor Mademoiselle Vseslavitch made the least sign that either was aware of the other's presence. The girl passed into the cathedral, the man following closely on her heels.
In fear of losing sight of them Paul almost ran across the square and darted up the cathedral steps. But for all his speed his feet fell silently, so that neither the girl nor the man who followed her, heard.