‘What? that child?’ said Vandeloup, with an admirable expression of surprise; ‘nonsense!  It cannot be true.’

‘D’ye think I would tell a lee?’ said Archie, wrathfully, glowering down on the tall figure pacing leisurely along.  ’God forbid that my lips should fa’ tae sic iniquity.  It’s true, I tell ye; the lass has rin awa’ an’ left her faither—­a godly mon, tho’ I’m no of his way of thinkin—­to curse the day he had sic a bairn born until him.  Ah, ‘tis sorrow and dule she hath brought tae his roof tree, an’ sorrow and dule wull be her portion at the hands o’ strangers,’ and with this scriptural ending Mr McIntosh sharply whipped up Rory, and went on towards the stable, leaving Vandeloup standing in the road.

‘I don’t think he suspects, at all events,’ thought that young man, complacently.  ’As to Madame Midas—­pouf!  I can settle her suspicions easily; a little virtuous indignation is most effective as a blind;’ and M. Vandeloup, with a gay laugh, strolled on towards the house in the gathering twilight.

Suddenly he recollected the letter, which had escaped his thoughts, in his desire to see how McIntosh would take the disappearance of Kitty, so as there was still light to see, he leaned up against a fence, and, having lighted another cigarette, read it through carefully.  It appeared to afford him considerable satisfaction, and he smiled as he put it in his pocket again.

‘It seems pretty well forgotten, this trouble about Adele,’ he said, musingly, as he resumed his saunter; ’I might be able to go back again in a few years, if not to Paris at least to Europe—­one can be very happy in Monaco or Vienna, and run no risk of being found out; and, after all,’ he muttered, thoughtfully, fingering his moustache, ’why not to Paris?  The Republic has lasted too long already.  Sooner or later there will be a change of Government, and then I can go back a free man, with a fortune of Australian gold.  Emperor, King, or President, it’s all the same to me, as long as I am left alone.’

He walked on slowly, thinking deeply all the time, and when he arrived at the door of Mrs Villiers’ house, this clever young man, with his accustomed promptitude and decision, had settled what he was going to do.

‘Up to a certain point, of course,’ he said aloud, following his thoughts, ‘after that, chance must decide.’

Madame Midas was very much grieved at the news of Kitty’s Escapade, particularly as she could not see what motive she had for running away, and, moreover, trembled to think of the temptations the innocent girl would be exposed to in the metropolis.  After tea, when Archie had gone outside to smoke his pipe, and Selina was busy in the kitchen washing the dishes, she spoke to Vandeloup on the subject.  The young Frenchman was seated at the piano in the darkness, striking a few random chords, while Madame was by the fire in the arm-chair.  It was quite dark, with only the rosy glow of the fire shining through the room.  Mrs Villiers felt uneasy; was it likely that Vandeloup could have any connection with Kitty’s disappearance?  Impossible! he had given her his word of honour, and yet—­it was very strange.  Mrs Villiers was not, by any means, a timid woman, so she determined to ask Gaston right out, and get a decided answer from him, so as to set her mind at rest.