It was a relief, however, to Paul to have some object on which to vent his pent-up feelings, and if the pork-packer did not quite understand all that he said, Paul at least left no mistake in Schwartzberger's mind as to the total lack of grounds for the latter's jealousy, and filled him with a proper awe of the wrath of an Englishman once aroused.
Paul realized that by the time she met Schwartzberger, if not before, the Comtesse would discover the veiled emphasis on mere probability in his parting suggestion as to any future meeting. So he was not surprised to see the tonneau of the big green motor car with its customary occupants whirling past him as he drove to the station that afternoon.
Well! the unbelievable _faux pas_ which he had committed--thanks to chance and his own imbecility--had turned him from his search. He no longer had the heart to linger about Nice peering into strange ladies' faces. The Lord only knew what blunder he would make next if he continued to look for her there!
When Paul stepped down from a railway-carriage in the _Gare de l'Est_ in Paris two days later, his language had improved slightly. But he was still cursing himself for a consummate ass.
Baxter, who had received instructions to meet him, relieved him of his travelling bag, and a taximeter cab, whisking him quickly to the _Place Vendôme_, soon deposited him at the _Hôtel du Rhin._
As for the Russian lady, Paul was a bit discouraged over the adventure. Langres and Paris were two entirely different places. What chance had he of finding her here?
He confessed to himself that it was not a promising undertaking, yet sooner or later everyone came to Paris. Here he was, and here would he stay, for a time at least. Perhaps,--who knew?--he might find her more easily than he dared hope. And from his apartments he looked out over the tree-tops.
The sight of miles and miles of chimney pots were not at all reassuring.
"Well! I'll never find her, mooning away up here," he thought. "I'll go down to dinner--and then for a plan of action."
That night he went to the theatre, but his thoughts were not for the elegantly gowned daughters of respectable _bourgeoises_ who disported themselves for his amusement. What if they did play the parts of grand duchesses better than those great ladies themselves know how? Only one woman on earth interested Paul. And--confound his luck!--he did not know where in this great town he could find her.
