"Will you please ask her to call me a cab?" said Nancy trembling.

And he transmitted the request; adding kindly in English, "Of course I am coming with you as far as your husband's studio. I expect we shall find that Mr. Dampier went there last night. The Poulains have forgotten that he came with you: you see they are very tired and overworked just now--"

But Nancy shook her head. It was impossible that the Poulains should have forgotten Jack.

Madame Poulain went a step nearer to Senator Burton and muttered something, hurriedly. He hesitated.

"Mais si, Monsieur le Senateur."

And very reluctantly he transmitted the woman's disagreeable message. "She thinks that perhaps as you are going to your husband's rooms, you had better take your trunk with you, Mrs. Dampier."

Nancy a.s.sented, almost eagerly. "Yes, do ask her to have my trunk brought down! I would far rather not come back here." She was still quite collected and quiet in her manner. "But, Mr. Burton, hadn't I better pay? Especially if they persist in saying I came alone?" she smiled, a tearful little smile. It still seemed so--so absurd.

She took out her purse. "I haven't much money, for you see Jack always pays everything. But I've got an English sovereign, and I can always draw a cheque. I have my own money."

And the Senator grew more and more bewildered. It was clear that this girl was either speaking the truth, or else that she was a most wonderful actress. But, as every man who has reached the Senator's age is ruefully aware, very young women can act on occasion in ordinary every day life, as no professional actress of genius ever did or ever will do on a stage.

Madame Poulain went off briskly, and when she came back a few moments later, there was a look of relief, almost of joy, on her face. "The cab is here," she exclaimed, "and Jules has brought down madame's trunk."

Nancy looked at the speaker quickly. Then she was "madame" again? Well, that was something.

"Three francs--that will quite satisfy us," said Madame Poulain, handing over the change for her English sovereign. It was a gold napoleon and a two-franc piece. For the first time directly addressing Mrs. Dampier, "There has evidently been a mistake," she said civilly. "No doubt monsieur left madame at the door, and went off to his studio last night. I expect madame will find monsieur there, quite safe and sound."

Senator Burton, well as he believed himself to be acquainted with his landlady, would have been very much taken aback had he visioned what followed his own and Mrs. Dampier's departure from the Hotel Saint Ange.

Madame Poulain remained at the door of the porte cochere till the open carriage turned the corner of the narrow street. Then she looked at her nephew.

"How much did she give you?" she asked roughly. And the young man reluctantly opened a grimy hand and showed a two franc piece.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him, and motioned him back imperiously towards the courtyard.

After he had gone quite out of sight she walked quickly up the little street till she came to a low, leather-bound door which gave access to the church whose fine b.u.t.tress bestowed such distinction on the otherwise rather sordid Rue Saint Ange. Pushing open the door she pa.s.sed through into the dimly-lit side aisle where stood the Lady Altar.

This old church held many memories for Madame Poulain. It was here that Virginie had been christened, here that there had taken place the funeral service of the baby son she never mentioned and still bitterly mourned, and it was there, before the High Altar, to the right of which she now stood, that she hoped to see her beloved daughter stand ere long a happy bride.

She looked round her for a moment, bewildered by the sudden change from the bright sunlit street to the shadowed aisle. Then she suddenly espied what she had come to seek. Close to where she stood an alms-box clamped to the stone wall had written upon it the familiar legend, "Pour les Pauvres."

Madame Poulain took a step forward, then dropped the three francs Nancy Dampier had just paid her, and the two francs she had extracted from Jules's reluctant hand, into the alms-box.

CHAPTER III

That the cabman was evidently familiar with the odd address, "Impa.s.se des Nonnes," brought a measure of relief to Senator Burton's mind, and as he turned and gazed into the candid eyes of the girl sitting by his side he was ashamed of his vague suspicions.

The little carriage bowled swiftly across the great square behind which wound the Rue Saint Ange, up one of the steep, picturesque streets which lead from thence to the Luxembourg Gardens.

When they had gone some considerable way round the gay and stately pleasance so dear to the poets and students of all nations, they suddenly turned into the quaintest, quietest thoroughfare imaginable, carved out of one of those old convent gardens which till lately were among the most beautiful and characteristic features of the "Quartier."

An architect, who happened also to be an artist, had set up in this remote and peaceful oasis his household G.o.ds, adding on this, his own domain, a few studios with living rooms attached.

A broad, sanded path ran between the low picturesque buildings, and so the carriage was obliged to draw up at the entrance to the Impa.s.se.

Senator Burton looked up at the cabman: "Better not take off the lady's trunk just yet," he said quickly in French, and though Nancy Dampier made no demur, she looked surprised.

They began walking up the shaded path, for above the low walls on either side sprang flowering shrubs and trees.

"What a charming place!" exclaimed the Senator, smiling down at her. "How fond you and your husband must be of it!"

But his companion shook her head. "I've never been here," she said slowly.

"You see this is my first visit to Paris. Though I ought not to call it a visit, for Paris is to be my home now," and she smiled at last, happy in the belief that in a few moments she would see Jack.

She was a little troubled at the thought that Jack would be disappointed at her coming here in this way, with a stranger. But surely after she had explained the extraordinary occurrence of the morning he would understand?

They were now opposite No. 3. It was a curious, mosque-like building, with the domed roof of what must be the studio, in the centre. Boldly inscribed on a marble slab set above the door was the name, "John Dampier."

Before the bell had well stopped ringing, a st.u.r.dy apple-faced old woman, wearing the Breton dress Jack so much admired, stood before them.

Nancy of course knew her at once for Mere Bideau.

A pleasant smile lit up the gnarled face, and Nancy remembered what Jack had so often said as to Mere Bideau's clever way of dealing with visitors, especially with possible art patrons.

Mrs. Dampier looked very kindly at the old woman who had been so good and so faithful a servant to her Jack, and who, she hoped, would also serve her well and faithfully.

Before the Senator had time to speak, Mere Bideau, shaking her head, observed respectfully, "Mr. Dampier is not yet arrived. But if you, monsieur, and you, madame, will give yourselves the trouble of coming back this afternoon he will certainly be here, for I am expecting him any moment--"

"Do you mean that Mr. Dampier has not been here at all this morning?"

enquired the Senator.

"No, monsieur, but as I have just had the honour of informing you, my master is to arrive to-day without fail. Everything is ready for him and for his lady. I had a letter from Mr. Dampier the day before yesterday."

She waited a moment, and then added, "Won't monsieur come in and wait? Mr.

Dampier would indeed be sorry to miss monsieur!"

So far so good. Senator Burton eagerly acknowledged to himself that here was confirmation--as much confirmation as any reasonable man could expect--of Mrs. Dampier's story.

This respectable old woman was evidently expecting her master and his bride to-day--of that there could now be no doubt.

"I beg of you to enter," said Mere Bideau again. "Monsieur and madame may like to visit the studio? I do not say that it is very tidy--but my master's beautiful paintings are not affected by untidiness--" and she smiled ingratiatingly.

This important-looking gentleman, whom her shrewd Parisian eyes and ears had already told her was an American, might be an important picture-buyer; in any case, he was evidently gravely disappointed at not finding Mr.

Dampier at home.

"My master may arrive any moment," she said again; "and though I've had to put all the luggage he sent on some time ago, in the studio--well, monsieur and madame will excuse that!"

She stood aside to allow the strangers to step through into the little pa.s.sage.

The Senator turned to Nancy: "Hadn't we better go in and wait?" he asked.

"You must remember that if Mr. Dampier has gone to the hotel they will certainly tell him we are here."