When passers-by met him on the pavement he did his best to look and walk in a leisurely way, for he fancied they were reading his secret in the very swing of his shoulders.
He had followed the Rue de la Grange Bateliere as far as the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, where the brilliant lamplight surprised him, and he retraced his steps.

For nearly an hour he traversed the district thus, choosing always the darkest corners.

Doubtless there was some goal whither his steps were patiently, instinctively, leading him through a labyrinth of endless turnings.

At length he lifted his eyes up it a street corner.

He had reached his destination, the point where the Rue Taitbout and the Rue de la Provence met.