“What!” interrupted Fanferlot, “this silly girl wrote, and I never saw the letter?”

“But, little man, she must have posted it herself, the day she went to the Palais de Justice.”

“Very likely,” said Fanferlot propitiated.  He continued reading: 

“I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply.  Who will help Prosper if his best friends desert him?  If you don’t answer this letter, I shall consider myself released from a certain promise, and without scruple will tell Prosper of the conversation I overheard between you and M. de Clameran.  But I can count on you, can I not?  I shall expect you at the Archangel day after to-morrow, between twelve and four.

“Nina Gypsy”

The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy it.

“Well!” said Mme. Alexandre, “what do you think?”

Fanferlot was delicately resealing the letter when the door of the hotel office was abruptly opened, and the boy twice whispered, “Pst!  Pst!”

Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet.  He had barely time to close the door before Mme. Gypsy entered the room.

The poor girl was sadly changed.  She was pale and hollow-cheeked, and her eyes were red with weeping.

On seeing her, Mme. Alexandre could not conceal her surprise.

“Why, my child, you are not going out?”

“I am obliged to do so, madame; and I come to ask you to tell anyone that may call during my absence to wait until I return.”

“But where in the world are you going at this hour, sick as you are?”

For a moment Mme. Gypsy hesitated.

“Oh,” she said, “you are so kind that I am tempted to confide in you; read this note which a messenger just now brought to me.”

“What!” cried Mme. Alexandre perfectly aghast:  “a messenger enter my house, and go up to your room!”

“Is there anything surprising in that?”

“Oh, oh, no! nothing surprising.”

And in a tone loud enough to be heard in the closet she read the note: 

“A friend of Prosper who can neither receive you, nor present himself at your house, is very anxious to speak to you.  Be in the stage-office opposite the Saint Jacques tower, to-night at nine precisely, and the writer will approach, and tell you what he has to say.

“I have appointed this public place for the rendezvous so as to relieve your mind of all fear.”

“And you are going to this rendezvous?”

“Certainly, madame.”

“But it is imprudent, foolish; it is a snare to entrap you.”

“It makes no difference,” interrupted Gypsy.  “I am so unfortunate already that I have nothing more to dread.  Any change would be a relief.”

And, without waiting to hear any more, she went out.  The door had scarcely closed upon Mme. Gypsy, before Fanferlot bounced out of the closet.