"Are you going to Paris, young gentlemen?"
he asked, his tone harsh and high-pitched.
We answered in the affirmative. "To-morrow?" he questioned.
"Yes," we answered; and expected him to continue the
conversation. But instead he became silent, gazing abstractedly
at the table; and what with our meal, and our own talk we had
almost forgotten him again, when looking up, I found him at my
elbow, holding out in silence a small piece of paper.
I started his face was so grave. But seeing that there were
half-a-dozen guests of a meaner sort at another table close by, I
guessed that he merely wished to make a private communication to
us; and hastened to take the paper and read it. It contained a
scrawl of four words only--
"Va chasser l'Idole."
No more. I looked at him puzzled; able to make nothing out of
it. St. Croix wrinkled his brow over it with the same result.
It was no good handing it to Marie, therefore.
"You do not understand?" the stranger continued, as he put the
scrap of paper back in his pouch.
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