Vandeloup, on the other hand, was quite unaware of the surprise in
store for him, and thought that the old friend he was to meet would
be some Ballarat acquaintance of his own and Madame's. In his
wildest flight of fancy he never thought it would be Kitty, else his
cool nonchalance would for once have been upset at the thought of
the two women he was interested in being under the same roof.
However, where ignorance is bliss--well M. Vandeloup, after dressing
himself carefully in evening dress, put on his hat and coat, and,
the evening being a pleasant one, thought he would stroll through
the Fitzroy Gardens down to the station.
It was pleasant in the gardens under the golden light of the sunset,
and the green arcades of trees looked delightfully cool after the
glare of the dusty streets. Vandeloup, strolling along idly, felt a
touch on his shoulder and wheeled round suddenly, for with his past
life ever before him he always had a haunting dread of being
recaptured.
The man, however, who had thus drawn his attention was none other
than Pierre Lemaire, who stood in the centre of the broad asphalt
path, dirty, ragged and disreputable-looking. He had not altered
much since he left Ballarat, save that he looked more dilapidated-
looking, but stood there in his usual sullen manner, with his hat
drawn down over his eyes. Some stray wisps of grass showed that he
had been camping out all the hot day on the green turf under the
shadow of the trees, and it was easy to see from his appearance what
a vagrant he was.
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