“Yes, Madame. She said how good you had been to her; and at the very time when the poor child needs protection so much, I should be sorry to deprive her of yours.”

“I can can only thank you heartily, and say how happy I am, sir, that the poor child, not having applied to me, should have sought refuge with you.”

Thereupon I wrote the address: “Rue Neuve Saint Augustin; first floor; the folding doors of green velvet. From me-” and I signed: Christian.

I was not known by any other name in the house.

“You will pardon my being so inquisitive, sir,” said the Countess; “but when do you intend calling upon her?”

“This evening, Madam.”

“Will she be in this afternoon?”

“I am certain she will be at home. You will find her, I have no doubt reading Mademoiselle de Maupin.”

“Did you put that book into her hands?”

“Oh no, Madam, she reads any books she likes.”

“I have some business in the Rue de la Paix, after which I shall go to see her.”

I bowed and escorted the Countess as far as the staircase. I then ran to the window and saw the carriage follow the Rue de Rivoli and turn the corner of the Place Vendome.

I at once took my hat and ran downstairs and was at the Rue Saint Augustin in a moment. I had the key of the passage, so I entered noiselessly the dressing room, and, through an opening made on purpose, I saw Violette sitting in a kind of easy chair, with no other garments than her chemise and half opened dressing gown, with her book on her knees, abstractedly playing with one of her little rosebuds peering out of the masses of her black curls flowing on her breast. Scarcely was I installed at my post of observation than Violette showed signs of being aware that there had been a knock at the door.

The young girl stretched out her arm to ring for the lady's maid: she no doubt suddenly recollected that she had gone out, and, rising, she went slowly and noiselessly to the door.