Cartaret looked sharply at Houdon. The musician having been so recently saved from the wrath of his host, was momentarily discreet: he hid his smile behind one of the thin bands that contrasted so sharply with his plump cheeks. "Messieurs," said Cartaret, "I am going with this lady." They all edged forward. "And I am going alone," added the American. "I wish you good-night." "You will be knifed in the street," said Madame. Her tone implied: "And it will serve you right." None of the others seemed to mind his going; the wrangle over, they were ready for their coffee and liqueurs. Houdon was frankly relieved. Only Seraphin protested. "And you will leave your dinner unfinished?" he cried. Cartaret was taking his hat and rain-coat from the row of pegs on the wall where, among the other guests', he had hung them when he entered. He nodded his answer to Seraphin's query. "Leave your dinner?" said Seraphin. "But my God, it is paid for!" "Good-night," said Cartaret, and was plunged down the stairs by the strangely-garbed woman tugging at his hand. CHAPTER V WHICH TELLS HOW CARTARET RETURNED TO THE RUE DU VAL-DE-GRÂCE, AND WHAT HE FOUND THERE La timidité est un grand péché contre l'amour.--Anatole France: _La Rotisserie de la Reine Pédauque_. If that strange old woman in the rakish head-dress was in a hurry, Cartaret, you may be sure, was in no mood for tarrying by the way. He left the Café des Deux Colombes, picturing The Girl of the Rose desperately ill, and he was resolved not only to be the first to come to her aid, but to have none of the restaurant's suspicious company for a companion. Then, no sooner had he passed through the empty room on the ground-floor of Mme. Pasbeaucoup's establishment and gone a few steps toward the rue de Seine, than he began to fear that perhaps the house to which he was apparently being conducted--The Girl's house and his own--had taken fire; or that the cause of the duenna's mission was some like misfortune which would be better remedied, so far as The Girl's interests were concerned, if there were more rescuers than one. "What is the matter?" he begged his guide to inform him, as they hurried through the darkened streets. His guide lifted both hands to her face. "Is mademoiselle ill?" The duenna shook her head in an emphatic negative. "The place isn't on fire?" His tone was one of petition, as if, should he pray hard enough, she might avert the catastrophe he now dreaded; or as if, by touching her sympathies, he could release some hidden spring of intelligible speech. The old woman, however, only shook her head again and hurried on. Cartaret was glad to find that she possessed an agility impossible for a city-bred woman of her apparent age, and he was still more relieved when they reached their lodging-house and discovered it in apparently the same condition as that in which he had left it.