“Madame Plumet,” I said, “we have strayed some distance from the business which brought you here. Let us return to your affairs; mine are hopeless, and you can not remedy them.” She got up trembling, her eyes red and her feelings a little hurt. “My action? Oh, no! I can’t attend to it to-day. I’ve no heart to talk about my business. What you’ve told me has made me too unhappy. Another day, Monsieur Mouillard, another day.” She left me with a look of mystery, and a pressure of the hand which seemed to say: “Rely on me!” Poor woman! CHAPTER XII. I GO TO ITALY June 10th. In the train. We have passed the fortifications. The stuccoed houses of the suburbs, the factories, taverns, and gloomy hovels in the debatable land round Paris are so many points of sunshine in the far distance. The train is going at full speed. The fields of green or gold are being unrolled like ribbons before my eyes. Now and again a metallic sound and a glimpse of columns and advertisements show that we are rushing through a station in a whirlwind of dust. A flash of light across our path is a tributary of the river. I am off, well on my way, and no one can stop me--not Lampron, nor Counsellor Boule, nor yet Plumet. The dream of years is about to be realized. I am going to see Italy--merely a corner of it; but what a pleasure even that is, and what unlooked-for luck! A few days ago, Counsellor Boule called me into his office. “Monsieur Mouillard, you speak Italian fluently, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.” “Would you like a trip at a client’s expense?” “With pleasure, wherever you like.” “To Italy?” “With very great pleasure.” “I thought so, and gave your name to the court without asking your consent. It’s a commission to examine documents at Milan, to prove some copies of deeds and other papers, put in by a supposititious Italian heir to establish his rights to a rather large property. You remember the case of Zampini against Veldon and others?” “Quite well.” “It is Zampini’s copies of the deeds on which he bases his claim which you will have to compare with the originals, with the help of a clerk from the Record Office and a sworn translator. You can go by Switzerland or by the Corniche route, as you please. You will be allowed six hundred francs and a fortnight’s holiday. Does that suit you?” “I should think so!” “Then pack up and be off. You must be at Milan by the morning of the eighteenth.”