"It is well," continued he. "To-day is Friday:
can you return on Monday? Mademoiselle will be most happy to assist in any investigation you may wish to make."
"Really"—commenced Julienne, intending, as haply Mademoiselle Trompere was engaged at present, to have postponed her contemplated interview sine die.
"I will tell her to expect you on Monday," said the old man, gently shaking Julienne's unresisting hand. "Pray, what may be your name?"
"Folitton."
"Married, I see," added he, looking at the ring upon her finger. "It is well! Of the Folittons of the Rue St. Lazare?"
"No," said Julienne; "I live at St. Cloud, where M. Folitton is a florist and botanist."
"Ah, I know him: a worthy and clever young man!" answered the seer. And thus, holding her hand, they enjoyed a pleasing and confidential chat.
Julienne, wishing she had never undertaken her adventure, or that, being commenced, it were well over, kept her appointment on the Monday—it being a very common thing for her in the summer-time to start off to Paris. Something was continually being wanted from the vast storehouses of the metropolis. Thus her journey attracted no attention.
When she rang Mademoiselle Trompere's bell this second time, the summons was answered by a little girl, who conducted her into the salon. On entering, she perceived the old man whom she had before seen, writing at a table covered with papers and large books, many of the latter being open. A young woman, dressed in black, and of genteel appearance, but the expression of whose features Julienne did not altogether like, was sitting by the window busied with her crotchet-needles. The latter personage rose from her seat, and inclined her head to Julienne.