Part 8 (1/2)

”I am quite safe here,” I declared.

”Then it has been arranged!” she exclaimed quickly. ”Louis is, after all, monsieur's friend. He has perhaps seen--”

”We will not talk of these things,” I begged. ”I would rather--”

She started, and drew a little away, glancing nervously toward the door.

”I am terrified,” she said. ”Monsieur must come to my apartments one afternoon, where we can talk without fear. There is one more question, though,” she continued rapidly. ”Louis looked often at us. Tell me, did he say anything to you about Monsieur Bartot and myself?”

”Nothing,” I answered, ”except that Monsieur Bartot held a somewhat unique position in a certain corner of Paris, and that he was a person whom it was not well to offend.”

”No more?” she asked.

”No more,” I answered.

”I saw him point us out to you,” she remarked.

”I asked him to show me the most beautiful woman in the room,” I answered.

She shook her head.

”You are too much of a courtier for an Englishman,” she said. ”You do not mean what you say.”

”Even an Englishman,” I answered, ”can find words when he is sufficiently moved.”

I made a feint again to hold her hands, but she drew away.

”When are you going back to England?” she asked abruptly.

”To-morrow, I think,” I answered, ”if I am still free.”

”Free!” she repeated scornfully. ”If you are protected, who is there who will dare to touch you? Monsieur Decresson has all the police dancing to his bidding, and if that were not sufficient, Monsieur Bartot could rescue you even from prison. No, you are safe enough, monsieur, even if you remain here! It is Louis, eh, who is anxious for you to return to England?”

”My time was nearly up anyhow,” I told her. ”It is not until this moment that I have felt inclined to stay.”

”Nevertheless,” she murmured, ”Monsieur goes to London to-morrow. Is it permitted to ask--”

”Anything,” I murmured.

”If monsieur goes alone?”

”I fear so,” I answered, ”unless mademoiselle--”

She laid her fingers upon my lips.

”Monsieur does not know the elderly gentleman and the very beautiful girl who sat opposite him last night?” she asked,--”Monsieur Delora and his niece?”

Somehow I felt convinced, the moment that the question had left her lips, that her whole interest in me was centred upon my reply. She concealed her impatience very well, but I realized that, for some reason or other, I was sitting there by her side solely that I might answer that question.

”I heard their names last night for the first time,” I declared. ”It was Louis who told me about them.”