She was shown to a room, and proceeded at once to correct the ravages
of the night journey. A handsome woman still, but vain, like all her
sex, and anxious to look her best on every occasion.
Hastily swallowing a cup of coffee, as soon as her toilette was
completed she issued forth and took the first cab she could find.
"To the Porte St. Martin," she said; "lose no time."
Arrived there, she alighted, dismissed the cab, and proceeded on foot
to the Faubourg St. Martin, to the house we have visited already, and
in which our friend Hyde was still a prisoner.
Simply mentioning her name, she passed by the porter with the air of
one who knew her road, although it was probably the first time she had
come there. On the sixth floor she knocked as Hyde had done, and was
admitted much as he had been.
There was no disguise about her, however, and she sent in her name as
"Mrs. Wilders, just arrived from England, and most anxious to see Mr.
Hobson."
"You, Cyprienne!" said the man we know, who answered to the names of
both Hobson and Ledantec. "In Paris! This was quite unnecessary. I am
arranging everything. You had my letter?"
"Pshaw! Hippolyte, you can't befool me."
"Why this tone? I tell you I have done everything."
"You may think so, but in the meantime Rupert has stolen a march on
me.
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