I listened to the music for several moments in silence.  Once or twice I stole a glance at her.  Notwithstanding a certain perfection of outline, and a toilette which removed her wholly from any suggestion of immaturity, there was yet something childish in the pale, drawn face,—­in the eyes with their look of fear.  My heart was full of sympathy for her.  Such adventures as this one into which I seemed to have stumbled were well enough for men.  She, at any rate, was wholly out of place in her present position!  I had wild dreams at that moment.  The wine and the music, and the absolute trustfulness with which she seemed, for the moment, to have committed herself to my keeping, fired my blood.  I had thoughts of taking her hand in mine, of bidding her leave the hotel that night, that minute, with me,—­of taking her away into the country, into some quiet place where we could be married, and where none of these things which terrified her could throw their shadows across her life!  Yet barely had the thought come to me before I realized how impossible it all was.  I, too, was an adventurer!  If I were not actually in the power of these men, it was to them that I owed my liberty!  My own spirits began to fall.  It was a queer maze this into which I had been drawn.

The music changed its note.  Even as we sat there its languorous, passionate rhythm passed away, to be succeeded by the quicker, cleaner notes of some old martial music.  It came to me like a cold douche.  I remembered that I had been—­was still—­a soldier.  I remembered that my word was pledged to certain undertakings, and that after all I was fighting on her side.  The momentary depression passed away.  I found myself able to talk more lightly, until something of the old gayety came back to her also.

“Tell me,” she said, as at last we rose to vacate our places,—­“you spoke the other day of going down into the country.”

“I am not leaving London just yet,” I said decidedly.

If I had indeed made some great sacrifice, I should have been rewarded by the brilliant look which she flashed up at me.  Her eyes for a moment were absolutely the color of violets.  I heard people whisper as we passed by.  We said very little more to one another.  I left her at the lift, and she gave me both her hands with a little impulsive gesture which I had already learned to look for.  Then one of those inexplicable moods seemed to take possession of her.  As the lift shot away from me I saw that her eyes were full of tears.

I made my way back to the cafe.  It was now almost deserted.  All but one or two very late diners had gone, and the tables were being prepared for supper.  Louis, however, was still there, sitting at the desk by the side of the cashier, and apparently making calculations.  He came forward when he saw me enter, and we met by chance just as one of the under-managers of the hotel passed by.

“What can I do for you this evening, Captain Rotherby?” he asked, with his usual bow.  “A table for supper, perhaps?”