“Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. I know where everything valuable is kept.
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