The sections had been working in the last few weeks much more systematically than was generally suspected.
"Your husband is with you, madame?" he asked curtly, his eyes still conning that page.
"M. le Comte is not with me," she answered, stressing the title.
"Not with you?" He looked up suddenly, and directed upon her a glance in which suspicion seemed to blend with derision. "Where is he?"
"He is not in Paris, monsieur.
"Ah! Is he at Coblenz, do you think?"
Madame felt herself turning cold. There was something ominous in all this. To what end had the sections informed themselves so thoroughly of the comings and goings of their inhabitants? What was preparing? She had a sense of being trapped, of being taken in a net that had been cast unseen.
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