Part 58 (1/2)

The fates that had slept so long were indeed waking up and beginning to take notice of Betty. Destiny, like the most attractive of the porters at the Gare de Lyon, ”_s'occupait d'elle_.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CONFESSIONAL.

The concierge sat at her window under the arch of the porte-cochere at 57 Boulevard Montparna.s.se. She sat gazing across its black shade to the sunny street. She was thinking. The last twenty-four hours had given food for thought.

The trams pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, people in carriages, people on foot--the usual crowd--not interesting.

But the open carriage suddenly drawn up at the other side of the broad pavement was interesting, very. For it contained the lady who had given the 100 francs, and had promised another fifty on the first of the month. She had never come with that fifty, and the concierge having given up all hope of seeing her again, had acted accordingly.

Lady St. Craye, pale as the laces of her sea-green cambric gown, came slowly up the cobble-paved way and halted at the window.

”Good morning, Madame,” she said. ”I bring you the little present.”

The concierge was genuinely annoyed. Why had she not waited a little longer? Still, all was not yet lost.

”Come in, Madame,” she said. ”Madame has the air very fatigued.”

”I have been very ill,” said Lady St. Craye.

”If Madame will give herself the trouble to go round by the other door--” The concierge went round and met her visitor in the hall, and brought her into the closely furnished little room with the high wooden bed, the round table, the rack for letters, and the big lamp.

”Will Madame give herself the trouble to sit down? Would it be permitted to offer Madame something--a little gla.s.s of sugared water?

No? I regret infinitely not having known that Madame was suffering. I should have acted otherwise.”

”What have you done?” she asked quickly. ”You haven't told anyone that I was here that night?”

”Do not believe it for an instant,” said the woman rea.s.suringly.

”'No--after Madame's goodness I held myself wholly at the disposition of Madame. But when the day appointed pa.s.sed itself without your visit, I said to myself: 'The little affaire has ceased to interest this lady; she is weary of it!' My grateful heart found itself free to acknowledge the kindness of others.”

”Tell me exactly,” said Lady St. Craye, ”what you have done.”

”It was but last week,” the concierge went on, rearranging a stiff bouquet in exactly the manner of an embarra.s.sed ingenue on the stage, ”but only last week that I received a letter from Mademoiselle Desmond. She sent me her address.”

She paused. Lady St. Craye laid the bank note on the table.

”Madame wants the address?”

”I have the address. I want to know whether you have given it to anyone else.”

”No, Madame,” said the concierge with simple pride, ”when you have given a thing you have it not any longer.”

”Well--pardon me--have you sold it?”

”For the same good reason, no, Madame.”