For no sooner was I on the street than a sense of being unmistakably watched grew upon me.  I scarcely caught anybody in the act.  A succession of vanishing people passed me from one to another.  A working man in his blouse eyed me; and disappeared.  In the afternoon it was a soldier who turned up near my elbow, and in the evening he was succeeded by an equally interested old woman.  I might not have remembered these people with distrust if Skenedonk had not told me he was trailed by changing figures, and he thought it was time to get behind trees.

Bellenger might have returned to Paris, and set Napoleon’s spies on the least befriended Bourbon of all; or the police upon a man escaped from Ste. Pelagie after choking a sacristan.

The Indian and I were not skilled in disguises as our watchers were.  Our safety lay in getting out of Paris.  Skenedonk undertook to stow our belongings in the post-chaise at the last minute.  I went to De Chaumont’s hotel to bring the money from Doctor Chantry and to take leave without appearing to do so.

Mademoiselle de Chaumont seized me as I entered.  Her carriage stood in the court.  Miss Chantry was waiting in it while Annabel’s maid fastened her glove.

“O Lazarre!” the poppet cried, her heartiness going through me like wine.  “Are you back?  And how you are changed!  They must have abused you in Russia.  We heard you went to Russia.  But since dear Marquis du Plessy died we never hear the truth about anything.”

I acknowledged that I had been to Russia.

“Why did you go there?  Tell your dearest Annabel.  She won’t tell.”

“To see a lady.”

Annabel shook her fretwork of misty hair.

“That’s treason to me.  Is she beautiful?”

“Very.”

“Kind?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, you’re not.  By the way, why are you looking so wan if she is beautiful and kind?”

“I didn’t say she was beautiful and kind for me, did I?”

“No, of course not.  She has jilted you, the wretch.  Your dearest Annabel will console you, Lazarre!” She clasped my arm with both hands.  “Madame de Ferrier’s husband is alive!”

“What consolation is there in that?”

“A great deal for me.  She has her estates back, and he was only hiding until she got them.  I know the funniest thing!”

Annabel hooked her finger and led me to a small study or cabinet at the end of the drawing-room.

A profusion of the most beautiful stuffs was arranged there for display.

“Look!” the witch exclaimed, pinching my wrist in her rapture.  “India muslin embroidered in silver lama, Turkish velvet, ball dresses for a bride, ribbons of all colors, white blond, Brussels point, Cashmere shawls, veils in English point, reticules, gloves, fans, essences, a bridal purse of gold links—­and worse than all,—­except this string of perfect pearls—­his portrait on a medallion of ivory, painted by Isabey!”