"
"Her mother came after her?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; ten days ago, and together they drove away. By this time,
they are again in the good France."
I pretended to be inspecting a wardrobe, for I felt sure my face would
betray me. At a flash, I saw the whole story. There was nothing more
Madame Jourdain could tell me.
"Yes," I repeated, steadying my voice, "the good France."
"Monsieur Bethune has himself been absent for a week," she added, "on
affairs of business. He was not certain that he would return, but he
paid us to the fifteenth."
I nodded. "Yes: to-morrow--I will take possession then."
"Very well, monsieur," she assented; "I will have it in readiness."
For an instant, I hesitated. Should I use the photograph? Was it
necessary? How explain my possession of it? Did I not already know
all that Madame Jourdain could tell me? I turned to the stair.
"Then I must be going," I said; "I have some business affairs to
arrange," and we went down together.
The place was filling with a motley crowd of diners, but I paused only
to exchange a nod with Monsieur Jourdain, and then hurried away. The
fugitives had taken the French line, of course, and I hastened on to
the foot of Morton Street, where the French line pier is. A ship was
being loaded for the voyage out, and the pier was still open.
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