This time the search was successful. In a narrow street he discovered a small hotel which went by the name of the _Republique_. Here his question put to the plump Madame who opened the door, at once kindled interest. "Yes, there was most decidedly a Russian lady staying there--a young Russian lady of most distinguished appearance. She had arrived about noon on the day before, and said she intended to stay there for a couple of days, as she expected friends." "Had the friends arrived?" "No, not as yet. Perhaps Monsieur was the friend for whom she waited?" Verdayne was hardly prepared for this, and found the situation a trifle awkward to explain. "No," he said to the fat Madame, he was not the friend whom Mademoiselle had come to meet. He was, however, an acquaintance, and would call later in the day. Contenting himself with this, he lifted his hat and strolled down the street, followed by the shrewd, smiling eyes of the landlady. He walked on until he felt sure he was no longer observed; then he walked back again. On the opposite side of the street to the _Republique_, a few doors up, he discovered a _cafe_ of humble aspect, provided with tables beneath an awning, at which the thirsty could sit and refresh themselves. At one of these tables Paul took a chair, and at the risk of violent indigestion called for more coffee. He sat and sipped the sweet and chicory-flavoured liquid and turned about in his mind the best means of discovering the reason of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch's visit to Langres. He debated with himself whether it would not be better to go boldly over to the hotel and made his presence known; but he reflected that such a course might be unwise. Indeed, the very knowledge of his presence might result in her abandoning the business which had called her so suddenly from Lucerne. As time went on he glanced up and down the street, watching everyone's approach with interest. Towards half-past four his attention was aroused by the appearance of a man whose aspect was out of keeping with the little street. The stranger was above middle height, and bore himself with a certain air of quiet dignity. He was dressed in black, his clothes being well cut, though of obviously foreign tailoring. It was the man's face, however, which riveted Paul's attention. It was very dark, and the nose was somewhat flat; not at all the prevailing French type. Yet it was a face of great refinement and distinction, accentuated in a strange way by a long, black, and well-trimmed beard. The man, plainly, was not a Frenchman, nor, Paul decided, was he a German; certainly he was not an Italian nor an Austrian. A subtle something about the man's whole appearance, indeed, brought Verdayne to the conclusion that he was a Russian.