Perhaps the musing-fit into which I had by this time fallen, appeared somewhat suspicious in its abstraction; he gently interrupted:

“Mademoiselle,” said he, “I trust you have not far to go through these inundated streets?”

“More than half a league.”

“You live⁠—?”

“In the Rue Fossette .”

“Not” (with animation), “not at the pensionnat of Madame Beck?”

“The same.”

“ Donc ” (clapping his hands), “ donc, vous devez connaître mon noble élève, mon Paul? ” 212

“Monsieur Paul Emanuel, Professor of Literature?”

“He and none other.”

A brief silence fell. The spring of junction seemed suddenly to have become palpable; I felt it yield to pressure.

“Was it of M. Paul you have been speaking?” I presently inquired. “Was he your pupil and the benefactor of Madame Walravens?”