In the
sunshine-flooded street one or two shabby idlers were pausing to
eye the handsome equipage with its magnificent bay horses, and the
two great ladies on the doorstep of the fencing-academy. From
across the way came the raucous voice of an itinerant bellows-mender
raised in the cry of his trade:
"A raccommoder les vieux soufflets!"
Madame swung to the housekeeper.
"How long is it since monsieur left?"
"Ten minutes, maybe; hardly more." Conceiving these great ladies
to be friends of her invincible master's latest victim, the good
woman preserved a decently stolid exterior.
Madame wrung her hands. "Ten minutes! Oh!" It was almost a moan.
"Which way did he go?"
"The assignation is for nine o'clock in the Bois de Boulogne,"
Aline informed her. "Could we follow? Could we prevail if we did?"
"Ah, my God! The question is should we come in time? At nine
o'clock! And it wants but little more than a quarter of an hour.
Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" Madame clasped and unclasped her hands in
anguish. "Do you know, at least, where in the Bois they are to meet?"
"No - only that it is in the Bois.
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