Constance, as was natural, was in great distress at the wound her mother had received, but Emilia made light of it, although it caused her exquisite pain. It was an accident, Emilia said; she had slipped, and fell upon some broken glass; and Constance did not dream that the story was untrue. The young girl was very anxious on this morning; she expected a letter from her lover, Julian Bordier, and she told her mother that in her last letter to Julian she had given him the address of their lodgings in Forston Street. Emilia could not chide her for doing so, but she was inwardly distressed by the idea that the Bordiers might present themselves at any unexpected moment. M. Bordier would almost certainly make some inquiries as to the nature of the business that brought her to England. How should she reply? He was a penetrating man, and she could foresee nothing but calamity from a renewal at present of close relations with him. She could do nothing, however, to avert the dangers by which she was threatened. All she could do was to wait and hope. She went to the post office for letters, and received one for Constance and one for herself. She rode back immediately to Forston Street to give Constance her lover's letter, and in the cab she read her own. It was short but most affectionate and tender, and it confirmed her fears. There was every likelihood that the Bordiers would be in London within the next few weeks. Delivering Julian's missive to the eager girl, Emilia left her once more with the intention of proceeding to Gerard Street. She rode only part of the way, getting out of the cab at Regent's Circus. It was bitterly cold, but in this city of startling contrasts there are wheels that never stop. Though darkness enveloped the streets for weeks together the newspaper boys would still perambulate the thoroughfares with the last editions of the newspapers; would still bawl out at the top of their voices the tempting news they had to dispose of. Emilia had scarcely alighted from the cab when her ears were assailed by cries from these venders of the afternoon journals: "Murder! murder! Sudden Death in Gerard Street, Soho! Mr. Felix Murdered! Escape of the Murderer!" The shock which these startling announcements caused her was so great that she stumbled and would have fallen had not a policeman caught her by the arm. "Be careful how you walk," said the officer. "The streets are awful slippy."