"Will you kindly see that Mrs. Heron has this note?"
"Madame Heron left to-day, Monsieur--suddenly, about three o'clock.
There was illness in her family."
Soames compressed his lips. "Oh!" he said; "do you know her address?"
"Non, Monsieur. England, I think."
Soames put the note back into his pocket and went out. He hailed an open
horse-cab which was passing.
"Drive me anywhere!"
The man, who, obviously, did not understand, smiled, and waved his whip.
And Soames was borne along in that little yellow-wheeled Victoria all
over star-shaped Paris, with here and there a pause, and the question,
"C'est par ici, Monsieur?" "No, go on," till the man gave it up in
despair, and the yellow-wheeled chariot continued to roll between the
tall, flat-fronted shuttered houses and plane-tree avenues--a little
Flying Dutchman of a cab.
'Like my life,' thought Soames, 'without object, on and on!'