Several hours later, Christine stopped running, panting for breath, placing down her suitcases for a moment and looking around to get an idea of where she was.
She saw a sign that read Welcome To Orléans, and then she knew that she was, quite obviously, in the town of Orléans.
Then she looked around, trying to find a place to hide where she could eat something and turn in for the rest of the night.
After a moment, she saw a huge bridge nearby and decided that that would be a good hiding place. She then picked up her suitcases and rushed over to the bridge, sitting underneath it and placing her suitcases down.
"All right, Marc, let's see what you packed for food," she murmured to herself, placing Marc's suitcase on its side and opening it.
She then found bread, chicken drumsticks, and a huge pitcher of water that had a lid. Her stomach growled when she saw them.
"I'm coming," she muttered to her stomach, not expecting an answer, and pulled the food and water out of the suitcase. Then she unwrapped the chicken and bread and removed the lid from the water pitcher, starting to eat and drink.
Despite the fact that she was starving, she ate very little of the food, since she knew that she had to ration her supply so that it would last until she was on the ship to America.
As she was then packing away the food, she noticed something - a piece of paper peeking out of the side of the suitcase. She grabbed the paper and pulled it out.
The paper was folded, and she saw Christine written in Marc's handwriting on the front of it. It was a note for her.
She opened the note and started to read.
Christine, my love -
If you are reading this, it means that our escape plan was, for some reason, unsuccessful, and that we have resorted to Plan Two. This means that I am in the custody of the police, and you are making your way to Brest to get on the ship to America alone.
I know you must be astounded that I had two plans, much less one plan, but, as I most likely said to you earlier, when we were still together, I had to do something while you were jailed. And I also know you're surprised about Plan Two and what I'm doing in it, but believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing.
Do not worry about being in America without me - you will not be alone, for I have recruited the assistance of an old friend of mine who lives in New York. Her name is Marian Gohe, and I have known her for many years.
When you arrive in New York, you will go to an apartment complex called the Marts, which are located about five blocks from the ship dock. Then you will go to the second floor, room 2G. There you will find Marian, ready to assist you in any way she can, including shelter you. Just tell her that you are a friend of mine, and she will know who you are and that Plan Two is in effect.
I know that you have an instinctive distrust for people that you do not know or do not know well, but you need not have any fear of Marian. She knows who you are (I located her when you and I went to New York together, and I explained her to you), but, fortunately, she is like me and chooses not to judge people by how they have behaved in their past. Should anyone come looking for you in America, which I douct they will, she will not turn you in. She is a kind lady, and I was lucky enough to be able to contact her this past week, asking for her help should I need it, and get a response that said she was perfectly willing.
You need not worry about me - I will be fine; I can take care of myself. When we see each other again when I am released from prison and arrive in America, I will be in perfect health, though perhaps injured a bit as punishment for my actions, and thrilled to see your beautiful face once more.
However, I need to ask one favor of you - and I need you to heed my word, since it is vital to the success of this plan... so listen (read, rather), and listen (read) well.
It is of the most importance that you DO NOT RETURN TO PARIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. If you return to Paris and are caught again, then my efforts will have been for naught. And that would really rather annoy (and upset) me!
Well, that concludes my instructions. I will miss you, my dear, but do not despair - this is not "goodbye"; it is "I'll see you soon". Tell Marian that I said hello, and behave yourself, because you will not like being in prison again, especially in a foreign country.
All my love, Marc
"Oh, Marc," she sighed, holding the letter against her chest for a moment as though it were the most precious object she'd ever held in her hands. "How on earth you love someone like me is beyond me... you're too good to me."
As she sat there for a moment more, she yawned sleepily. It was obviously time for her to go to sleep.
She placed the letter back in the suitcase, pulled out the blanket that Marc had packed, lay down, and covered herself with the blanket, not bothering to remove her mask, which she'd actually switched back from her black one to her white one that covered the bad half of her face back in London, before she'd left to come to Paris and be imprisoned.
"Dear Marc," she murmured sleepily, yawning again and closing her eyes. "I hope you're all right..."
After a few minutes, she fell asleep.
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"Tell me where the hell she is, Wellington! I'm warning you!"
Cheif Draius punched Marc, who was tied up in a chair in a cell at the police station back in Paris, in the nose roughly. Draius was trying to beat answers out of Marc - literally.
Marc chuckled. "I'll never tell," he chanted. "I'll never tell; you can't make me; nanny - nanny - nanny..."
"Shut up!" Draius snapped, punching Marc again.
Marc spit blood out of his mouth and said casually, "I hope you know that beating me is absolutely useless, because first off, I'm not even sure where she is. I told her to get out of Paris, but, for all I know, she didn't listen and is hiding in my house."
"She's not in your house. I already sent a group of my men over there, and the house was empty."
"Well, then she's either hiding somewhere else or she ran away."
"Where did she run to?" Draius demanded. "I know you know!"
"How do you know I know?" Marc replied. "I just told her to get out of town. It's not as though I gave her specific directions for what to do and where to go!"
"Oh, sure you didn't," Draius replied sarcastically, starting to circle around Marc. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, and I want an honest answer. Where is she?"
"Somewhere."
"Be more specific, damn it!" Draius shouted. "I know you know where she is, or where she's going! I know you told her where to go and what to do when she got there!"
"Please," Marc sighed. "What evidence do you have of that? None. None at all."
"Answer me, Wellington!" Draius boomed. "This is you last chance; next time I'm going to -"
"Chief?" a policeman interrupted from the cell door. "Come here, please. I have an idea of where she's going."
Marc softly drew in his breath sharply. Had he been so careless as to not discard of Marian's responding telegram, saying that she would shelter Christine should she come to New York?
Draius walked over to the cell door and spoke softly with the policeman. By straining his ears with some difficulty, Marc could hear what they were saying.
"What is this?" Draius demanded to the officer. "All I see is a bunch of scribbles on paper! Useless!"
"No, sir," the policeman replied. "It's Monsieur Wellington's handwriting, not scribbles. He wrote down a very elaborate diagram of the two plans he had, a map included."
"What was the first plan?" Draius asked, sounding interested now.
"To come and simply free mademoiselle le fantôme from her cell, and then go to his house, pack, and start running away."
"Running away to where?"
"It's blotchy. I can't tell."
Marc softly chuckled to himself. He'd blotched where he'd written Brest and America on the diagram they were looking at purpose. Not that they would ever figure that out!
"And what was the second plan?"
"The second plan was that, should the first plan not go as planned, Monsieur Wellington would come out, show himself to us, and have us chase him away from where mademoiselle le fantôme would be hiding. Then she would run towards wherever they were headed alone."
"I see," Draius murmured thoughtfully. "Well, how the hell will we find out where - wait."
Marc drew in his breath sharply again. Draius had found something - he'd left something visible on the diagram!
"Look at the map, man," Draius continued. "Do you see what he wrote down on it?"
The policeman peered at the map. "He wrote down Paris and Brest. He left out all the other cities! Stupid Englishman; he doesn't know about any other French cities other than Paris and Brest!"
"No, idiot!" Draius snapped, smacking the officer upside the head. "He did it on purpose, see? They were going to go from Paris to Brest!"
"Ah, oui," the officer breathed, nodding. "Now I understand!"
"Send a group of the ten best men in our force over to Brest as quickly as possible," Draius ordered. "I want that criminal caught and at my mercy by tomorrow morning!"
"At once, sir!" the officer replied, saluting Draius and then walking away.
Draius turned to Marc, who was trying to hide his despair at Christine being caught again and his anger at his own stupidity, and smiled wickedly. "Well, Monsieur Wellington, it seems that you are not as useless as you seem at first glance... and it seems that you'll be a free man tomorrow morning!"
Then, laughing, Draius turned and walked out of the cell, leaving Marc tied in his chair, closing and locking the door behind him.
When Draius was out of sight, Marc wiggled in his chair in anger. "Damn it!"
"Oh, please, Christine," he thought to himself desperately. "Get out of there; get on the next possible ship to America! I can't let you get caught! Or else this will all have been for nothing..."