“He won’t do anything about me,” she said.  “In the first place, he will want no scandal.  In the second, he does not want me.  But he will come over to see her.”

“Her” was, of course, Marie Delhasse.  The duchess assigned to her the sinister distinction of the simple pronoun.

“Surely he will take means to get you to go back?” I exclaimed.

“If he could have caught me before I got here, he would have been glad.  Now he will wait; for if he came here and claimed me, what he proposed to do would become known.”

There seemed reason in this; the duchess calculated shrewdly.

“In fact,” said I, “I had better go back to the hotel.”

“That does not seem to vex you much.”

“Well, I can’t stay here, can I?” said I, looking round at the nunnery.  “It would be irregular, you know.”

“You might go to another hotel,” suggested she.

“It is most important that I should watch what is going on at my present hotel,” said I gravely; for I did not wish to move.

“You are the most—­” began the duchess.

But this bit of character-reading was lost.  Slow but sure, the Mother Superior was at our elbows.

“Adieu, Mr. Aycon,” said she.

I felt sure that she must manage the nuns admirably.

“Adieu!” said I, as though there was nothing else to be said.

“Adieu!” said the duchess, as though she would have liked to say something else.

And all in a moment I was through the gateway and crossing the paddock.  But the duchess ran to the gate, crying: 

“Mind you come again to-morrow!”

My expedition consumed nearly two hours; and one o’clock struck from the tower of the church as I slowly climbed the hill, feeling (I must admit it) that the rest of the day would probably be rather dull.  Just as I reached the top, however, I came plump on Mlle. Delhasse, who appeared to be taking a walk.  She bowed to me slightly and coldly.  Glad that she was so distant (for I did not like her looks), I returned her salute, and pursued my way to the hotel.  In the porch of it stood the waiter—­my friend who had taken such an obliging view of my movements the night before.  Directly he saw me, he came out into the road to meet me.

“Are you acquainted with the ladies who have rooms on the first floor?” he asked with an air of mystery.

“I met them here for the first time,” said I.

I believe he doubted me; perhaps waiters are bred to suspicion by the things they see.

“Ah!” said he, “then it does not interest you to know that a gentleman has been to see the young lady?”

I took out ten francs.

“Yes, it does,” said I, handing him the money.  “Who was it?”

“The Duke of Saint-Maclou,” he whispered mysteriously.

“Is he gone?” I asked in some alarm.  I had no wish to encounter him.

“This half-hour, sir.”