If spies were on his track, as Jeanne had feared and Blakeney prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in evading them.
He pulled the concierge's bell, and the latch of the outer door, manipulated from within, duly sprang open in response.

He entered, and from the lodge the concierge's voice emerging, muffled from the depths of pillows and blankets, challenged him with an oath directed at the unseemliness of the hour.
"Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he walked quickly past the lodge making straight for the stairs.
It seemed to him that from the concierge's room loud vituperations followed him, but he took no notice of these; only a short flight of stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne.
He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be still in bed, that he might have some difficulty in rousing Madame Belhomme, that the latter might not even care to admit him; nor did he reflect on the glaring imprudence of his actions.

He wanted to see Jeanne, and she was the other side of that wall.
"He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you ?" came in a gruff voice to him from below.
He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside Jeanne's door.

He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing echo of the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the door.
"Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing there ?" The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his feet thrust in slippers, and carrying a guttering tallow candle, had appeared upon the landing.
He held the candle up so that its feeble flickering rays fell on Armand's pale face, and on the damp cloak which fell away from his shoulders.
"What are you doing there ?" reiterated the concierge with another oath from his prolific vocabulary.
"As you see, citizen," replied Armand politely, "I am ringing Mademoiselle Lange's front door bell." "At this hour of the morning ?" queried the man with a sneer.
"I desire to see her." "Then you have come to the wrong house, citizen," said the concierge with a rude laugh.
"The wrong house?
What do you mean ?" stammered Armand, a little bewildered.
"She is not here--quoi!" retorted the concierge, who now turned deliberately on his heel.

"Go and look for her, citizen; it'll take you some time to find her." He shuffled off in the direction of the stairs.