CHAPTER XX.
A COUNCIL OF WAR.
Mad with his terrible forebodings, Andre hurried through the streets in the direction of the Hotel de Mussidan, caring little for the attention that his excited looks and gestures caused.

He had no fixed plan as to what to do when he arrived there, and it was only on reaching the Rue de Matignon that he recovered sufficient coolness to deliberate and reflect.
He had arrived at the desired spot; how should he set to work to obtain the information that he required?
The evening was a dark one, and the gas-lamps showed a feeble light through the dull February fog.

There were no signs of life in the Rue de Matignon, and the silence was only broken by the continuous surge of carriage wheels in the Faubourg Saint Honore.

This gloom, and the inclemency of the weather, added to the young painter's depression.

He saw his utter helplessness, and felt that he could not move a step without compromising the woman he so madly adored.