“No,” said the Vicomtesse, with decision, “I am going to Mrs. Temple’s.  I shall write the letter from there and send it by Andre, and you will go direct to Madame Gravois’s.”

Her glance rested anxiously upon my face, and there came an expression in her eyes which disturbed me strangely.  I had not known it since the days when Polly Ann used to mother me.  But I did not mean to give up.

“I am not tired, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, “and I will go with you to Mrs. Temple’s.”

“Give me your hand,” she said, and smiled.  “Andre and my maid are used to my vagaries, and your own countrymen will not mind.  Give me your hand, Mr. Ritchie.”

I gave it willingly enough, with a thrill as she took it between her own.  The same anxious look was in her eyes, and not the least embarrassment.

“There, it is hot and dry, as I feared,” she said, “and you seem flushed.”  She dropped my hand, and there was a touch of irritation in her voice as she continued:  “You seemed fairly sensible when I first met you last night, Mr. Ritchie.  Are you losing your sanity?  Do you not realize that you cannot take liberties with this climate?  Do as I say, and go to Madame Gravois’s at once.”

“It is my pleasure to obey you, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, “but I mean to go with you as far as Mrs. Temple’s, to see how she fares.  She may be—­worse.”

“That is no reason why you should kill yourself,” said Madame, coldly.  “Will you not do as I say?”

“I think that I should go to Mrs. Temple’s,” I answered.

She did not reply to that, letting down her veil impatiently, with a deftness that characterized all her movements.  Without so much as asking me to come after her, she reached the banquette, and I walked by her side through the streets, silent and troubled by her displeasure.  My pride forbade me to do as she wished.  It was the hottest part of a burning day, and the dome of the sky was like a brazen bell above us.  We passed the calabozo with its iron gates and tiny grilled windows pierced in the massive walls, behind which Gignoux languished, and I could not repress a smile as I thought of him.  Even the Spaniards sometimes happened upon justice.  In the Rue Bourbon the little shops were empty, the doorstep where my merry fiddler had played vacant, and the very air seemed to simmer above the honeycombed tiles.  I knocked at the door, once, twice.  There was no answer.  I looked at Madame la Vicomtesse, and knocked again so loudly that the little tailor across the street, his shirt opened at the neck, flung out his shutter.  Suddenly there was a noise within, the door was opened, and Lindy stood before us, in the darkened room, with terror in her eyes.

“Oh, Marse Dave,” she cried, as we entered, “oh, Madame, I’se so glad you’se come, I’se so glad you’se come.”

She burst into a flood of tears.  And Madame la Vicomtesse, raising her veil, seized the girl by the arm.