Doubtless they had arranged it all between them, and he was thrown overboard and sold. His mind was at once made up: he would follow her there or to the end of the earth; what did it matter to him? He told Banks to pack a small travelling valise; he called at Bligh's on his way to the station and gave him certain instructions, and he was off. Not a word of farewell to Georgie; not a look of kindness; not a kiss of love for that poor child lying broad awake and listening to his footsteps as he stole through the house at early morning! What could he have said to her?--he, going in search of his paramour, who had thrown him over,--what could he have said to the wife whom he had so cruelly treated, so recklessly betrayed? So Sir Charles Mitford, after long and tedious days of travel, arrived at Baden, as we have seen; and the first person he encountered, ere he had scarcely put foot in the hall of the Badischer Hof, was Mr. Aldermaston. He had known him in London, and was perfectly aware of his qualification for news. There was no reticence in Sir Charles Mitford now; no coming delicately to the subject; no beating about the bush: all that had vanished long since. Besides, if there had been any delicacy remaining, Mr. Aldermaston was scarcely the kind of man for whom it would have been employed. So Sir Charles said at once, and hurriedly: "How do, Aldermaston? Been here long?" "Ah, Sir Charles, how do you do? Just arrived, I see. Yes; I've been here--O, three weeks about." "Then can you tell me? Is Mrs. Hammond here?" "There's no such name in the _Fremdenblatt_--the _Gazette des Étrangers_, you know." His little eyes twinkled so, that even Mitford's dull comprehension was aroused. "But for all that, she's here. Tell me, for God's sake!" "Well, there's a French lady here--says she's French that's to say,--called Madame Poitevin, who might be Mrs. Hammond's twin sister." "Ah!" Mitford gave a long sigh of relief. "I suppose she's attracted the usual amount of attention among all the people here, eh?" "She would have, doubtless, had she ever courted it. But the truth is, she has never left her hotel." "Never left her hotel!" echoed Mitford, obviously delighted. "Which is her hotel? where is she staying?" "At the Russie, lower down the town." "Here under a feigned name, and never leaving her rooms,--that's strange," said Mitford. "Yes; must be dull for her," said little Aldermaston, looking up to see the effect his words had on his companion; "lives in strict seclusion." "Does she indeed? Poor girl! poor Laura!" "Yes,--only one person permitted to see her; only one who is allowed to mingle his tears with hers." "One person! and who is that?" "A friend of hers,--Prince Tchernigow." "Damnation!" screamed Mitford; "is he here? That cursed Russian with his sallow face has always been hanging about her; and is he here now?"