Excited, she ran to the head of the narrow staircase in time to hear Mme. de Plougastel exclaim in agitation: “He has gone already! Oh, but how long since? Which way did he take?” It was enough to inform Aline that Mme. de Plougastel’s errand must be akin to her own. At the moment, in the general distress and confusion of her mind, her mental vision focussed entirely on the one vital point, she found in this no matter for astonishment. The singular regard conceived by Mme. de Plougastel for Andre-Louis seemed to her then a sufficient explanation. Without pausing to consider, she ran down that steep staircase, calling: “Madame! Madame!” The portly, comely housekeeper drew aside, and the two ladies faced each other on that threshold. Mme. de Plougastel looked white and haggard, a nameless dread staring from her eyes. “Aline! You here!” she exclaimed. And then in the urgency sweeping aside all minor considerations, “Were you also too late?” she asked. “No, madame. I saw him. I implored him. But he would not listen.” “Oh, this is horrible!” Mme. de Plougastel shuddered as she spoke. “I heard of it only half an hour ago, and I came at once, to prevent it at all costs.” The two women looked blankly, despairingly, at each other. 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.” “In the Bois!” Madame was flung into a frenzy. “The Bois is nearly half as large as Paris.” But she swept breathlessly on, “Come, Aline: get in, get in!” Then to her coachman. “To the Bois de Boulogne by way of the Cours la Reine,” she commanded, “as fast as you can drive. There are ten pistoles for you if we are in time. Whip up, man!”