“She sent a girl, a gamine, only so high, all rags, all dirt, a horrible sight.” “Make haste!” I cried. “What then?” “Well, I gave this girl the clothes, Monsieur. She took them and went away.” “And is that all?” I asked, my heart falling again. “Not quite, Monsieur. It happened that my grandson was here at the time, and I told him to follow the girl, believing that in this way we might learn where her mistress is hiding.” “Splendid!” I cried. “And he followed her?” “Yes, he followed her, Monsieur--ah, such a distance! Along the Rue des Poulies to the river, along the quays, across the Pont Neuf, through the Rue de la Pelleterie, again along the quays, across the Rue St. Croix, through the Rue Cocatrix, doubling back and forth like a rabbit, doubtless to render pursuit impossible, until finally she turned into the Rue du Chevet. When my grandson reached the corner she had disappeared.” “’Twas well done!” I cried. “Here is a crown for your grandson, who is a brave boy,” and I turned away. “Where do you go, Monsieur?” asked the concierge. “To the Rue du Chevet, to be sure,” I answered. “Depend upon it, I shall soon find her hiding-place.” “Have a care, Monsieur,” he protested. “’Tis a dangerous place for honest men.” “I have my sword,” I answered, and hurried into the street. Darkness had already come, but I traversed the quays and crossed the Pont Neuf, with its queer little semicircular shops, its dentists and quack doctors and its equestrian statue of our great Henri, without pausing for breath. It was only when I plunged into the maze of streets beyond that I was compelled to stop and inquire my way, and even then it was with the greatest difficulty that I found the Rue du Chevet. I should have given up the task as hopeless, but the thought of Nanette a captive, suffering I knew not what indignities, spurred me on. The quarter was plunged in absolute darkness, there being no pretence of lighting the streets, and I could not see two paces before me, but from the stench which assailed my nostrils--the vapor of crime and disease--I knew I was again in one of those filthy quarters of the town where I had spent the day. Shadows passed me, leaving behind an impression of incredible foulness. Strange shapes brushed against me. There was something terrible and threatening in the very atmosphere. I felt that, although I could see nothing, I was fully visible to these denizens of the night, whose eyes had grown accustomed to its blackness. Here and there a feeble ray of light penetrated the shutters of a window or fought its way through a crevice in a doorway and faintly illumined a few inches of the dirty pavement. Everywhere else was gloom, so thick, so heavy, so absolute, that it seemed to press upon and suffocate me. I put my hand to my face and found my forehead damp with perspiration. “Come,” I said, “this will not do. You are frightening yourself, my friend. There is really nothing here to fear,” and I continued on.