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C hapt er 32

Heinrich once more unfolded the letter and read it aloud sardonically.

"So Varsovina will be pleased to receive me this afternoon, at the rue d'Antin. Imagine, mon cher Weiss, the honor that she does me! It might be a royal command.

"At last," said Weiss, with satisfaction, "after so long we may achieve something."

Heinrich went round to the rue d'Antin at about four o'clock in the afternoon. He was admitted by Marie, who exhibited every demonstration of pleasure at his reappearance in her world. He was then shown into the salon,

which was empty.

"Madame has been resting," Marie explained, "I will let her know that Monsieur is here. She has not been sleeping well, and sometimes I manage to persuade her to lie down in the afternoons."

"Indeed!"

He sat down in an armchair, peeled off his gloves, which were of lavender su├Ęde, and folded them carefully upon his knee.

"Indeed! And the Englishman?"

"What Englishman? There is no Englishman here. Madame is quite alone. Excuse me, Monsieur; I will let her know that Monsieur has arrived."

Alone in the salon, Heinrich soon began to exercise his powers of observation. No pictures. No letters, of course. They would be locked away in some casket in her bedroom. But what was that newspaper folded so neatly upon her writing-table? A foreign paper, surely, probably of English origin. He tiptoed across the room.

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