"The
person I wished to see was here on Friday, between three and six
in the afternoon; and she was waiting for a visitor with an
anxiety which could not possibly have escaped your notice."
This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifying
glass--none other than the woman's husband and landlord of the
hotel. "Ah! the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2--you
remember--the same who insisted upon having the large private
room."
"To be sure," replied the wife; "where could my wits have been!"
And turning to M. Fortunat: "Excuse my forgetfulness," she added.
"The lady is no longer in the house; she only remained here for a
few hours."
This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat--he had expected it; and
yet he assumed an air of the utmost consternation. "Only a few
hours!" he repeated, like a despairing echo.
"Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o'clock in the
morning, with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left
that same evening at eight o'clock."
"Alas! and where was she going?"
"She didn't tell me."
You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to burst into
tears. "Poor Lucy!" said he, in a tragical tone; "it was for me,
madame, that she was waiting. But it was only this morning that I
received her letter appointing a meeting here. She must have been
in despair. The post can't be depended on!"
The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and
the expression of their faces unmistakably implied: "What can we
do about it? It is no business of ours.
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