replied Marguerite at once, careless of the obstacles that
might impede the fulfilment of her promise. For it was quite possible
that serious difficulties might arise. Madame Leon, who had been
invisible since the morning, might suddenly reappear, or the General
and his wife might return to dinner. And what could Marguerite answer if
they asked her where she wanted to go alone, and at such an hour of
the evening? And if they attempted to prevent her from keeping her
appointment, how could she resist? All these were weighty questions and
yet she did not hesitate. Pascal had spoken, that sufficed, and she was
determined to obey him implicitly, cost what it might. If he advised
such a step, it was because he deemed it best and necessary; and she
willingly submitted to the instructions of the man in whom she felt such
unbounded confidence.

Having told Chupin that she might be relied upon for the evening, she
was retracing her way home, when suddenly the thought occurred to her
that she ought not to neglect this opportunity to place a decisive
weapon in Pascal's hands. She was close to the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette
and so without more ado she hurried to the establishment of Carjat the
photographer. He was fortunately disengaged, and she at once obtained
from him a proof of the compromising letter written by the Marquis de
Valorsay to Madame Leon. She placed it carefully in her pocket, thanked
the photographer, and then hurried back to the Rue Pigalle to wait
for the hour appointed in Pascal's letter. Fortunately none of her
unpleasant apprehensions were realized. The dinner-hour came and passed,
and still the house remained deserted. The workmen had gone off and the
laughter and chatter of the servants in the kitchen were the only sounds
that broke the stillness. Faint for want of food--for she had taken no
nourishment during the day--Marguerite had considerable difficulty in
obtaining something to eat from the servants. At last, however, they
gave her some soup and cold meat, served on a corner of the bare table
in the dining-room. It was half-past seven when she finished this
frugal meal. She waited a moment, and then fearing she might keep Madame
Ferailleur waiting, she went down into the street.

A cab was waiting at the corner of the Rue Boursault, as indicated. Its
windows were lowered, and in the shade one could discern the face and
white hair of an elderly lady. Glancing behind her to assure herself
that she had n