drawn by the
finest pair of dappled gray horses at that time to be seen in Paris.

"The woman who is getting into the carriage is handsome," said Peyrade
to Contenson, "but I like the one who is walking best; follow her, and
find out who she is."

"That is what that Englishman has just remarked in English," said
Theodore Gaillard, repeating Peyrade's remark to Madame du Val-Noble.

Before making this speech in English, Peyrade had uttered a word or
two in that language, which had made Theodore look up in a way that
convinced him that the journalist understood English.

Madame du Val-Noble very slowly made her way home to very decent
furnished rooms in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, glancing round now and then
to see if the mulatto were following her.

This establishment was kept by a certain Madame Gerard, whom Suzanne
had obliged in the days of her splendor, and who showed her gratitude
by giving her a suitable home. This good soul, an honest and virtuous
citizen, even pious, looked on the courtesan as a woman of a superior
order; she had always seen her in the midst of luxury, and thought of
her as a fallen queen; she trusted her daughters with her; and--which
is a fact more natural than might be supposed--the courtesan was as
scrupulously careful in taking them to the play as their mother
could have been, and the two Gerard girls loved her. The worthy, kind
lodging-house keeper was like those sublime priests who see in these
outlawed women only a creature to be saved and loved.

Madame du Val-Noble respected this worth; and often, as she chatted with
the good woman, she envied her while bewailing her own ill-fortune.

"Your are still handsome; you may make a good end yet," Madame Gerard
would say.

But, indeed, Madame du Val-Noble was only relatively impoverished. This
woman's wardrobe, so extravagant and elegant, was still sufficiently
well furnished to allow of her appearing on occasion--as on that evening
at the Porte-Saint-Martin to see _Richard Darlington_--in much splendor.
And Madame Gerard would most good-naturedly pay for the cabs needed by
the lady "on foot" to go out to dine, or to the play, and to come home
again.

"Well, dear Madame Gerard," said she to this worthy mother, "my luck is
about to change, I believe."

"Well, well, madame, so much the better. But be prudent; do not run into
debt any more. I have such difficulty in getting rid of the people who
are hunting for you."

"Oh, never worry y