“About two hours ago, sir—­very soon after I saw you go out, sir—­a messenger brought a letter for the young lady.  I took it upstairs; she was alone when I entered.  When she looked at the address, sir, she made a little exclamation, and tore the note open in a manner that showed great agitation.  She read it; and when she had read it stood still, holding it in her hand for a minute or two.  She had turned pale and breathed quickly.  Then she signed to me with her hand to go.  But she stopped me with another gesture, and—­and then, sir—­”

“Well, well, get on!” I cried.

“Then, sir, she asked if you were in the hotel, and I said no—­you had gone out, I did not know where.  Upon that, she walked to the window, and stood looking out for a time.  Then she turned round to me, and said:  ’My mother was fatigued by her walk, and is sleeping.  I am going out, but I do not wish her disturbed.  I will write a note of explanation.  Be so good as to cause it to be given to her when she wakes.’  She was calm then, sir; she sat down and wrote, and sealed the note and gave it to me.  Then she caught up her hat, which lay on the table, and her gloves; and then, sir, she walked out of the hotel.”

“Which way did she go?”

“She went, sir, as if she were making for the footpath down the hill.  An hour or more passed, and then madame’s bell rang.  I ran up and, finding her in the sitting room, I gave her the note.”

“And what did she say?”

“She read it, and cried ‘Ah!’ in great satisfaction, and immediately ordered a carriage and that the maid should pack all her luggage and the young lady’s.  Oh! she was in a great hurry, and in the best of spirits; and she pressed us on so that I was not able to attend properly to you, sir.  And finally, as you saw, she drove off to the house of the duke, still in high good humor.”

The waiter paused.  I sat silent in thought.

“Is there anything else you wish to know, sir?” asked the waiter.

Then my much-tried temper gave way again.

“I want to know what the devil it all means!” I roared.

The waiter drew near, wearing a very sympathetic expression.  I knew that he had always put me down as an admirer of Marie Delhasse.  He saw in me now a beaten rival.  Curiously I had something of the feeling myself.

“There is one thing, sir,” said he.  “The stable-boy told me.  The message for Mlle. Delhasse was brought from a carriage which waited at the bottom of the hill, out of sight of the town.  And—­well, sir, the servants wore no livery; but the boy declares that the horses were those of the Duke of Saint-Maclou.”

I muttered angrily to myself.  The waiter, discreetly ignoring my words, continued: 

“And, indeed, sir, madame expected to meet her daughter.  For I chanced to ask her if she would take with her a bouquet of roses which she had purchased in the town, and she answered:  ’Give them to me.  My daughter will like to have them.’”