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en and fusty cubby-hole in which commercia l travellers who found morbid pleasure in the early stages of asphyxiation sometimes wrote their letters. There they had remained for some time, at the end of which Monsieur Fargot—“il ava it l’air héb
été,” according to Baptiste, a witnes s of his exit?/span> 猦ad issued fort h alone and ju
mped into his car and sped away, p resumably to B ordeaux. After a moment or two Mademoiselle Corinne, in her turn, had emerged from the Salon de Lecture and looking very haughty with her pretty head in the air—(again Baptiste)—had mounte d to her apart
ment. Those were the bare f acts. Bigour din narrated them simply, in order to account for Corinna’s non-appearance at dinner. With admirable taste he forbore to question Mar tin as to the

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