et. Madame Bouisse trotted beside her with a bundle of cloaks and
umbrellas; a porter followed with her little portmanteau on
his shoulder.

And so they passed under the archway across the trampled snow, and
vanished out of sight.

CHAPTER XLIV.

A PRESCRIPTION.

A week went by--a fortnight went by--and still Hortense prolonged her
mysterious absence. Where could she be gone? Was she ill? Had any
accident befallen her on the road? What if the wounded hand had failed
to heal? What if inflammation had set in, and she were lying, even now,
sick and helpless, among strangers? These terrors came back upon me at
every moment, and drove me almost to despair. In vain I interrogated
Madame Bouisse. The good-natured _concierge_ knew no more than myself,
and the little she had to tell only increased my uneasiness.

Hortense, it appeared, had taken two such journeys before, and had, on
both occasions, started apparently at a moment's notice, and with every
indication of anxiety and haste. From the first she returned after an
interval of more than three weeks; from the second after about four or
five days. Each absence had been followed by a long season of
despondency and lassitude, during which, said the _concierge_,
Mademoiselle scarcely spoke, or ate, or slept, but, silent and pale as a
ghost, sat up later than ever with her books and papers. As for this
last journey, all she knew about it was that Mam'selle had had her
passport regulated for foreign parts the afternoon of the day before
she started.

"But can you not remember in what direction the diligence was going?" I
asked, again and again.

"No, M'sieur--not in the least,"

"Nor the name of the town to which her place was taken?"

"I don't know that I ever heard it, M'sieur."

"But at least you must have seen the address on the portmanteau?"

"Not I, M'sieur--I never thought of looking at it."

"Did she say nothing to account for the suddenness of her departure?"

"Nothing at all."

"Nor about her return either. Madame Bouisse? Just think a
moment--surely she said something about when you might expect her
back again?"

"Nothing, M'sieur, except, by the way--"

"Except what?"

"_Dame_! only this--as she was just going to step into the diligence,
she turned back and shook hands with me--Mam'selle Hortense, proud as
she is, is never above shaking hands with me, I can tell you, M'sieur."

"No, no--I can well believe it. Pray, go on!"

"Well, M'sieu