She
had been working early and late during the past two days, and the
thought of the missing letter worried her from time to time. Sometimes
she felt almost certain that she had dropped it in changing from her
circus clothes, and that it had been appropriated out of curiosity by
one of the women who shared the dressing-room. As it was written in
English, they would probably throw it away at once in disgust, annoyed
at being deprived of the excitement of a romance or scandal.
She knew it would be useless to make enquiries. If it had been left
there it had been done late at night, and the dressing-rooms were
always cleaned early next morning, and it would have been swept away
with the other rubbish.
She had not said anything about her loss to Vardri. It would make him
even more anxious than herself, and she must bear the penalty of her
own carelessness.
She hoped that after all it would come to light in some box or drawer
among her clothes.
She came forward noiselessly across the polished, carpetless floor.
"_Bon jour_, Emile! You wanted me?"
He pointed to a chair.
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