“In a sense,” he admitted, “it is
true.”
“On the steamer,” she remarked, “you
spoke as though your interest in me was not inimical.”
“Nor is it,” he answered promptly.
“You are in a difficult position, but you may
find things not so bad as you imagine. At present
my advice to you is this: Go upstairs to your
room and stay there.”
The little man had a compelling manner. Lucille
made her way towards the elevator.
“As a matter of fact,” she murmured bitterly,
“I am not, I suppose, permitted to leave the
hotel?”
“Madam puts the matter bluntly,” he answered;
“but certainly if you should insist upon leaving,
it would be my duty to follow you.”
She turned away from him and entered the elevator.
The door of her room was slightly ajar, and she saw
that a waiter was busy at a small round table.
She looked at him in surprise. He was arranging
places for two.
“Who gave you your orders?” she asked.
“But it was monsieur,” the man answered,
with a low bow. “Dinner for two.”
“Monsieur?” she repeated. “What
monsieur?”
“I am the culprit,” a familiar voice answered
from the depths of an easy-chair, whose back was to
her. “I was very hungry, and it occurred
to me that under the circumstances you would probably
not have dined either. I hope that you will
like what I have ordered. The plovers’
eggs look delicious.”
She gave a little cry of joy. It was Mr. Sabin.
The Prince dined carefully, but with less than his
usual appetite. Afterwards he lit a cigarette
and strolled for a moment into the lounge. Celeste,
who was waiting for him, glided at once to his side.
“Monsieur!” she whispered. “I
have been here for one hour.”
He nodded.
“Well?”
“Monsieur le Duc has arrived.”
The Prince turned sharply round.
“Who?”
“Monsieur le Duc de Souspennier. He calls
himself no longer Mr. Sabin.”
A dull flush of angry colour rose almost to his temples.
“Why did you not tell me before?” he exclaimed.
“Monsieur was in the restaurant,” she
answered. “It was impossible for me to
do anything but wait.”
“Where is he?”
“Alas! he is with madam,” the girl answered.
The Prince was very profane. He started at once
for the elevator. In a moment or two he presented
himself at Lucille’s sitting-room. They
were still lingering over their dinner. Mr. Sabin
welcomed him with grave courtesy.
“The Prince is in time to take his liqueur with
us,” he remarked, rising. “Will
you take fin champagne, Prince, or Chartreuse?
I recommend the fin champagne.”
The Prince bowed his thanks. He was white to
the lips with the effort for self-mastery.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Sabin,” he said,
“upon your opportune arrival. You will
be able to help Lucille through the annoyance to which
I deeply regret that she should be subjected.”
