Before Valerie had resided at Coombe six weeks she grew weary of the
monotony of country life. In her discontented mood her surroundings
were dull and uninteresting, while the local people she met lacked
polish and _chic_, which, to her eyes, were the two necessary
qualifications in acquaintances. Nothing was extraordinary in this,
however. Women of the world meet in their life so many men and women--
young, middle aged, and old--who commit all sorts of absurdities for or
around them, that they end by entertaining a sovereign contempt for the
whole human race, placing all persons in the same category. In each
woman they see only an individual to impose upon and outvie in the
matter of dress, and each fresh specimen of the genus man which is
brought before them they regard only as a lamb destined for the
sacrifice after being sufficiently shorn.
It was in consequence of an earnest wish she expressed that they had
left Cornwall and travelled to Paris, taking up their abode at the Hotel
Continental.
Lounging in a capacious chair in the smoking-room, Hugh was scanning
some letters he had just received. A few days had elapsed since their
arrival, and this morning Valerie had gone out alone in order to visit
her milliner in the Rue de la Paix. Left to his own resources, her
husband had taken the letters that Jacob had forwarded to him, and,
repairing to the smoking-room, endeavoured to amuse himself with their
contents.
One which he had read and still held in his hand caused him to twirl his
moustache thoughtfully and knit his brows.
Upon a half sheet of notepaper one sentence only was written, in a fine
angular hand, and read:
"If you obtain a copy of the Paris newspaper, _Le Gaulois_, for 10th
May, 1886, you will find in it something that will interest you."
It was dated from Chelsea, and signed by Dolly Vivian.
"Now, I wonder what on earth she means?" he exclaimed aloud, her strange
request for an interview--to which he had not replied--recurring to him.
It was exceedingly curious, he thought, that she should write him these
vague, puzzling letters, well knowing that he was married and could now
be nothing more to her than a friend. There was a mystery about this
last communication that had aroused his curiosity, and for some time he
sat trying in vain to find an explanation of her strange conduct.
Suddenly he made a resolve. Gathering up his letters he thrust them
into his pocket, and went to his room to get his overcoat.
"If your mistress returns, Nanette, tell her I've gone for a stroll, and
shall return in an hour," he said to his wife's maid, who handed him his
hat.
"Very well, m'sieur," the girl replied. Then, as Trethowen descended
the stairs to leave the hotel, she watched him, and added to herself:
"You will return in an hour, will you? Perhaps so; we shall see."
She laughed heartily, for something appeared to amuse her, and when he
had disappeared she returned to her mistress's room and commenced
packing a trunk.
As Trethowen walked along the Rue Castiglione, crossed the Place
Vendome, and went on towards the Boulevard des Capucines, a tall
well-dressed man, with dark, pointed beard and curled moustaches,
followed leisurely in his footsteps. This individual lounged aimlessly
along, halting now and then to gaze into shop windows; nevertheless,
from under the rather broad brim of his glossy silk hat a pair of keen
grey eyes watched every movement of the man upon whom he was keeping
observation. In the boulevard he was careful to cross to the opposite
side of the way, in case the other should take a fancy to retrace his
steps, for it appeared as if he did not desire an encounter. Sauntering
along contemplating the engravings of the illustrated papers displayed
in the kiosques, he loitered so naturally that to an ordinary observer
he was but an honest citizen of the suburbs.
The morning was bright and frosty. Hugh, bent upon investigating the
truth of Dolly's strange assertion, and unaware of the presence of the
individual who had suddenly displayed such intense interest in his
movements, walked down the Boulevard des Italiens, and, turning into the
Rue Drouot, entered the offices of _Le Gaulois_.