"A courier!" exclaimed several voices.

"Madame was nursery-governess to an English _milord_. They married, and
quarrelled--no harm in that, _mes amis_; nothing more common. Monsieur
Bihl is a very faithful fellow; nursed his last master in an illness that
ended fatally, because he travelled with his doctor. Milord left him a
handsome legacy--he retired from service, and fell ill, perhaps from
idleness or beer. Is not that the story, Monsieur Bihl?"

"He was always drunk--the wretch!" sobbed Adele. "That was to drown my
domestic sorrows," said the German; "and when I was sick in my bed,
madame ran off with my money. Thanks to monsieur, I have found both, and
I wish you a very good night."

"_Dansez-vous toujours, mes amis_," said the officer, bowing. And
following Adele and her spouse, the little man left the room--where he
had caused, in chests so broad and limbs so doughty, much the same
consternation as that which some diminutive ferret occasions in a burrow
of rabbits twice his size.

Morton had outstayed Mr. Love. But he thought it unnecessary to linger
long after that gentleman's departure; and, in the general hubbub that
ensued, he crept out unperceived, and soon arrived at the _bureau_. He
found Mr. Love and Mr. Birnie already engaged in packing up their
effects.

"Why--when did you leave?" said Morton to Mr. Birnie.

"I saw the policeman enter."