She returned to her carriage.  It started off once more, passed up the Rue de Faubourg Montmarte, turned into the Rue de Provence, deposited its fair freight at her own door, and drove away.

“She lives here,” said old Tabaret, with a sigh of relief.

He got out of the cab, gave the driver his forty francs, bade him wait, and followed in the young woman’s footsteps.

“The old fellow is patient,” thought the driver; “and the little brunette is caught.”

The detective opened the door of the concierge’s lodge.

“What is the name of the lady who just came in?” he demanded.

The concierge did not seem disposed to reply.

“Her name!” insisted the old man.

The tone was so sharp, so imperative, that the concierge was upset.

“Madame Juliette Chaffour,” he answered.

“On what floor does she reside?”

“On the second, the door opposite the stairs.”

A minute later, the old man was waiting in Madame Juliette’s drawing-room.  Madame was dressing, the maid informed him, and would be down directly.

Tabaret was astonished at the luxury of the room.  There was nothing flaring or coarse, or in bad taste.  It was not at all like the apartment of a kept woman.  The old fellow, who knew a good deal about such things, saw that everything was of great value.  The ornaments on the mantelpiece alone must have cost, at the lowest estimate, twenty thousand francs.

“Clergeot,” thought he, “didn’t exaggerate a bit.”

Juliette’s entrance disturbed his reflections.

She had taken off her dress, and had hastily thrown about her a loose black dressing-gown, trimmed with cherry-coloured satin.  Her beautiful hair, slightly disordered after her drive, fell in cascades about her neck, and curled behind her delicate ears.  She dazzled old Tabaret.  He began to understand.

“You wished, sir, to speak with me?” she inquired, bowing gracefully.

“Madame,” replied M. Tabaret, “I am a friend of Noel Gerdy’s, I may say his best friend, and—­”

“Pray sit down, sir,” interrupted the young woman.

She placed herself on a sofa, just showing the tips of her little feet encased in slippers matching her dressing-gown, while the old man sat down in a chair.

“I come, madame,” he resumed, “on very serious business.  Your presence at M. Gerdy’s—­”

“Ah,” cried Juliette, “he already knows of my visit?  Then he must employ a detective.”

“My dear child—­” began Tabaret, paternally.

“Oh!  I know, sir, what your errand is.  Noel has sent you here to scold me.  He forbade my going to his house, but I couldn’t help it.  It’s annoying to have a puzzle for a lover, a man whom one knows nothing whatever about, a riddle in a black coat and a white cravat, a sad and mysterious being—­”

“You have been imprudent.”

“Why?  Because he is going to get married?  Why does he not admit it then?”