They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. He must be more or less of an age with this man. \" \"There's only one problem.
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