It was after twelve when Paul sought the shade of the _Hôtel de
l'Europe_ again. There the few sounds that pierced the mid-day
stillness were chiefly those that penetrated from the kitchen, where
_Monsieur le Cusinier_ and his assistants were busily engaged in the
preparation of _déjeuner_. And it was not long before Paul sat down to
a delightful meal, served in a vine-framed window. He was alone in the
room, and feeling the need of encouragement he invited the genial
landlord to share a bottle of Burgundy with him.
The two men sat there, toasting each other more and more gaily as the
red nectar fell lower in the long bottle, until finally, perceiving
his host to be in a confidential mood, Paul questioned him about
tourist travel.
"Ah! Monsieur! May the _bon Dieu_ bless you! You are the first to
visit us this summer. It is early yet. But soon they will come to see
our wonderful cathedral, and stay a day or two with us."
Paul's spirits drooped again at this information, but for an hour
after finishing his demi-tasse he lingered at the table, hoping for
some clue, while _Monsieur le Propriétaire_ chattered on.
There was indeed but little to amuse the traveller in Langres, after
the cathedral, beyond the quaint streets and the beautiful old
timber-framed houses. Doubtless Monsieur Verdayne--he did not know
Paul's title--would wish to see the cathedral that very afternoon; it
would be pleasant to go to vespers. A little later for himself, he
would recommend another walk to the ramparts to see the sun-set.
Meanwhile, he knew of some truly marvellous Chartreuse in the cellar
below. Would not Monsieur compliment him by tasting it? Monsieur
would, with much pleasure; and accordingly a dusty bottle was soon
forthcoming.
So another slow hour wore away. And again, in the cool of the
afternoon, Paul ventured forth on another tour of inspection.
This time the search was successful. In a narrow street he discovered
a small hotel which went by the name of the _République_. Here his
question put to the plump Madame who opened the door, at once kindled
interest.
"Yes, there was most decidedly a Russian lady staying there--a young
Russian lady of most distinguished appearance. She had arrived about
noon on the day before, and said she intended to stay there for a
couple of days, as she expected friends."
"Had the friends arrived?"
"No, not as yet. Perhaps Monsieur was the friend for whom she waited?"
Verdayne was hardly prepared for this, and found the situation a
trifle awkward to explain.
"No," he said to the fat Madame, he was not the friend whom
Mademoiselle had come to meet. He was, however, an acquaintance, and
would call later in the day.
Contenting himself with this, he lifted his hat and strolled down the
street, followed by the shrewd, smiling eyes of the landlady.
He walked on until he felt sure he was no longer observed; then he
walked back again.
On the opposite side of the street to the _République_, a few doors
up, he discovered a _café_ of humble aspect, provided with tables
beneath an awning, at which the thirsty could sit and refresh
themselves.
At one of these tables Paul took a chair, and at the risk of violent
indigestion called for more coffee. He sat and sipped the sweet and
chicory-flavoured liquid and turned about in his mind the best means
of discovering the reason of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch's visit to
Langres.
He debated with himself whether it would not be better to go boldly
over to the hotel and made his presence known; but he reflected that
such a course might be unwise. Indeed, the very knowledge of his
presence might result in her abandoning the business which had called
her so suddenly from Lucerne.
As time went on he glanced up and down the street, watching everyone's
approach with interest. Towards half-past four his attention was
aroused by the appearance of a man whose aspect was out of keeping
with the little street.
The stranger was above middle height, and bore himself with a certain
air of quiet dignity. He was dressed in black, his clothes being well
cut, though of obviously foreign tailoring.
It was the man's face, however, which riveted Paul's attention. It was
very dark, and the nose was somewhat flat; not at all the prevailing
French type. Yet it was a face of great refinement and distinction,
accentuated in a strange way by a long, black, and well-trimmed
beard.
The man, plainly, was not a Frenchman, nor, Paul decided, was he a
German; certainly he was not an Italian nor an Austrian. A subtle
something about the man's whole appearance, indeed, brought Verdayne
to the conclusion that he was a Russian.
And then that rare gift of intuition which had always been Paul's
great aid in times of trouble told him that this dignified and
daintily-walking stranger was in some manner connected with
Mademoiselle Vseslavitch's presence at the _Hôtel de la République_.
So certain of this was he that at once he took the precaution of
drawing further back into the _café_, where he could sit in the
shadows and watch the passage of the stranger without arousing any
interest himself.
Twice the black-bearded man walked up the street, glancing sharply at
the _République_, and twice he walked back with the same meditative
and dilatory air. Then he turned the corner and disappeared.
The proprietor of the inn busied himself about the _café_, and,
seeming curious about the visitor's long sojourn, Paul ordered a
further supply of the chicory-like coffee.
It was not long before his patience was rewarded. There was some
bustle about the door of the inn, and then he saw the fat landlady
bowing and scraping on the white doorstep, and out of the shadows into
the sunshine stepped the girl he had come to find.
Dressed all in black and thickly veiled, Mademoiselle Vseslavitch
came quickly out of the doorway and walked down the street.
Paul, who had previously taken the precaution to settle his score,
immediately rose and walked after her.
The street was so narrow and there were so many people about that he
had to follow pretty closely in order to avoid losing her. He noted
with some surprise that she walked straight ahead, as though with
studied purpose, never faltering and never so much as glancing to the
right or to the left.
Down the hill they went and so into the space about the cathedral,
where busy women had set out their wares--poultry, pottery, vegetables
and the like.
More than one head was turned to note the quick, silent passage of
Mademoiselle Vseslavitch. Hers, indeed, was a physique which could
not have escaped notice, no matter what its surroundings.
On the market-square, having a clearer view before him, Paul slackened
his pace and allowed the distance to increase between them.
Still the beautiful Russian lady walked straight ahead, as one who
follows an oft-trodden path and knows full well whither that path
leads.
She moved up the cathedral steps, and as she did so Paul saw
approaching the sombre figure of the black-bearded man whose presence
in the little street by the _Hôtel de la République_ had aroused his
interest earlier in the morning.
But though their steps were evidently leading them to the same spot,
neither the black-bearded man nor Mademoiselle Vseslavitch made the
least sign that either was aware of the other's presence. The girl
passed into the cathedral, the man following closely on her heels.
In fear of losing sight of them Paul almost ran across the square and
darted up the cathedral steps. But for all his speed his feet fell
silently, so that neither the girl nor the man who followed her,
heard.