"I say," said the coachman, turning round to speak to M. d'Harville from his seat, "master, just look. My mate, there, has stopped at No. 17; we are about at 13. Shall I stop here or go on to 17?"
"Stop here."
"I say,—look'ee,—you'll lose your pretty lady. She has gone into the alley leading to No. 17."
"Open the door."
"I'm coming, sir."
And quickly following the steps of his wife, M. d'Harville entered the obscure passage up which shehad disappeared. Madame d'Harville, however, had so far the start as to have entered the house previously.
Attracted by the most devouring curiosity, Madame Pipelet, with her melancholy Alfred and her friend the oyster-woman, were huddled close together on the sill at the lodge door. The staircase was so dark that a person just emerging from the daylig
