“Of course it is,” Yola agreed.
Then, because he was never far from her thoughts, she said in a low voice,
“Your aunt said that you know the Marquis de Montereau.”
“I know him well,” Aimée replied, “but because I think it is important for you to make up your own mind about him, because I think that second-hand impressions are always odious, I am not going to tell you about him. But you will meet him tomorrow evening.”
She saw the expression in Yola’s eyes and laughed.
“I know you are longing to ask me a thousand questions,” she said, “but believe me, I am being wise when I tell you that you will answer them yourself after you have met Leo, as everyone in Paris calls him.”
As she spoke, the carriage drew up outside a shop in the Rue de la Paix and Yola glanced out the window, expectin
