forward in a heavy leather chair below on her right. The old man stared at her, his thin lips parted in astonishment, his eyes in shock. Marie St. Jacques! he whispered. My God, get out of here! I beg your ... What? The aged Frenchman quickly, with difficulty, rose to his feet, his head subtly, swiftly, jerking in short movements as he scanned the lobby. You cannot be seen here, Mrs. Webb, he said, his voice still a whisper but no less harsh and commanding. Dont look at me! Look at your watch. Keep your head down. The Deuxième veteran glanced away, nodding aimlessly at several people in nearby chairs as he continued, his lips barely moving. Go out the door on the far left, the one used for luggage. Hurry! No! replied Marie, her head down, her eyes on her watch. You know