Not much was happening, for a wonder. The gusty March wind, sweeping
through the gardens and under the lighted arcades, seemed to have swept
away the usual throng of strollers in the Champs Elysees. Even the cafe
was deserted except for a small group in a far corner of the room, which
Mr. Calvert scarce noticed as he passed in. A cheerful fire was burning
in an open grate, near which were set a screen and a settle. Mr. Calvert
ensconced himself comfortably in this cosy corner and, calling for a
glass of wine, fell to reading the day's copy of the _Moniteur_ lying on
the table beside him. But his thoughts were other-where than with the
account of the Assembly's proceedings. Although he was in Paris and near
the woman he loved, he was as greatly in the dark as ever as to what
course to pursue to protect her. He knew not in what direction to turn,
seeing that he knew not what danger threatened. After he had seen St.
Aulaire, pressing affairs had detained him in London three days before
he could set out for Paris. He knew not whether that worthy had arrived
there before him or not--whether he intended to return to Paris at all
or to work through some secret agency.
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