Part 68 (1/2)

Her vanity was a.s.suaged. She patted his hand but came no nearer.

”You are a foolish man,” she said, ”very foolish.”

”It is not for you to say that,” he replied. ”If I have been foolish, were not you often the cause of my folly?” Again she laughed.

”Oh, la, la! It is always the same! It is always you men who accuse! For that presently I shall reprove you. But now--as for now, behold, we have arrived!”

”It is a crowded thoroughfare,” the man remarked, nervously, looking up and down Shaftesbury Avenue.

”Stupid!” she cried, stepping out. ”I do not recognize you to-night, little one. Even your voice is different. Follow me quickly across the pavement and up the stairs. There is only one flight. The flat I have borrowed is on the second floor. I do not care very much that people should recognize me either, under the circ.u.mstances. There is nothing they love so much,” she added, with a toss of the head, ”as finding an excuse to have my picture in the paper.”

He followed her down the dim hall and up the broad, flat stairs, keeping always some distance behind. On the first landing she drew a key from her pocket and opened a door. It was the door of Monsieur Guillot's sitting-room. A round table in the middle was laid for supper. One light alone, and that heavily shaded, was burning.

”Oh, la, la!” she exclaimed. ”How I hate this darkness! Wait till I can turn on the lights, dear friend, and then you must embrace me. It is from outside, I believe. No, do not follow. I can find the switch for myself. Remain where you are. I return instantly.”

She left him alone in the room, closing the door softly. In the pa.s.sage she reeled for a moment and caught at her side. She was very pale.

Guillot, coming swiftly up the steps, frowned as he saw her.

”He is there?” he demanded, harshly.

”He is there,” Louise replied, ”but, indeed, I am angry with myself.

See, I am faint. It is a terrible thing, this, which I have done. He did me no harm, that young man, except that he was stupid and heavy, and that I never loved him. Who could love him, indeed! But, Guillot--”

He pa.s.sed on, scarcely heeding her words, but she clung to his arm.

”Dear one,” she begged, ”promise that you will not really hurt him.

Promise me that, or I will shriek out and call the people from the streets here. You would not make an a.s.sa.s.sin of me? Promise!”

Guillot turned suddenly towards her and there were strange things in his face. He pointed down the stairs.

”Go back, Louise,” he ordered, ”back to your rooms, for your own sake. Remember that you have left the theatre too ill to finish your performance. You have had plenty of time already to get home. Quick!

Leave me to deal with this young man. I tell you to go.”

She retreated down the stairs, dumb, her knees shaking with fear.

Guillot entered the room, closing the door behind him. Even as he bowed to that dark figure standing in the corner, his left hand shot forward the bolt.

”Monsieur,” he said--

”What is the meaning of this?” the visitor interrupted, haughtily. ”I am expecting Mademoiselle Louise. I did not understand that strangers had the right of entry into this room.”

Guillot bowed low.

”Monsieur,” he said once more, ”it is a matter for my eternal regret that I am forced to intrude even for a moment upon an a.s.signation so romantic. But there is a little matter which must first be settled. I have some friends here who have a thing to say to you.”

He walked softly, with catlike tread, along by the wall to where the thick curtains shut out the inner apartment. He caught at the thick velvet, dragged it back, and the two rooms were suddenly flooded with light. In the recently discovered one, two stalwart-looking men in plain clothes, but of very unmistakable appearance, were standing waiting.

Guillot staggered back. They were strangers to him. He was like a man who looks upon a nightmare. His eyes protruded. The words which he tried to utter, failed him. Then, with a swift, nervous presentiment, he turned quickly around towards the man who had been standing in the shadows. Here, too, the unexpected had happened. It was Peter, Baron de Grost, who threw his m.u.f.fler and broad-brimmed hat upon the table.