“I think it is likely that he is still in love with Mademoiselle de St. Gre,” I answered, “though I have no reason for saying so.”

“You are very honest, Mr. Ritchie.  We must look at this problem from all sides.  If he is not reconciled with his mother, Antoinette will not receive him.  And if he is, we have the question to consider whether he is still worthy of her.  The agents of Providence must not be heedless,” she added with a smile.

“I am sure that Nick would alter his life if it became worth living,” I said.  “I will answer for that much.”

“Then he must be reconciled with his mother,” she replied with decision.  “Mrs. Temple has suffered enough.  And he must be found before he gets sufficiently into the bad graces of the Baron de Carondelet,—­these two things are clear.”  She rose.  “Come here to-morrow evening at the same time.”

She started quickly for the bedroom door, but something troubled me still.

“Madame—­” I said.

“Yes,” she answered, turning quickly.

I did not know how to begin.  There were many things I wished to say, to know, but she was a woman whose mind seemed to leap the chasms, whose words touched only upon those points which might not be understood.  She regarded me with seeming patience.

“I should think that Mrs. Temple might have recognized you,” I said, for want of a better opening.

“From the miniature?” she said.

I flushed furiously, and it seemed to burn me through the lining of my pocket.

“That was my salvation,” she said.  “Mrs. Temple has never seen the miniature.  I have heard how you rescued it, Mr. Ritchie,” she added, with a curious smile.  “Monsieur Philippe de St. Gre told me.”

“Then he knew?” I stammered.

She laughed.

“I have told you that you are a very simple person,” she said.  “Even you are not given to intrigues.  I thank you for rescuing me.”

I flushed more hotly than before.

“I never expected to see you,” I said.

“It must have been a shock,” she said.

I was dumb.  I had my hand in my coat; I fully intended to give her the miniature.  It was my plain duty.  And suddenly, overwhelmed, I remembered that it was wrapped in Polly Ann’s silk handkerchief.

Madame la Vicomtesse remained for a moment where she was.

“Do not do anything until the morning,” she said.  “You must go back to your lodgings at once.”

“That would be to lose time,” I answered.

“You must think of yourself a little,” she said.  “Do as I say.  I have heard that two cases of the yellow fever have broken out this afternoon.  And you, who are not used to the climate, must not be out after dark.”

“And you?” I said.

“I am used to it,” she replied; “I have been here three months.  Lest anything should happen, it might be well for you to give me your address.”