The evening before, she was ready to die of fright because we believed that the Abbe was George Hamilton, and now, since I had found he was not, she was ready to die of disappointment—­so she assured me.

At the appointed time, De Grammont, the Abbe, and I took the count’s barge and went down to the water stairs nearest Temple Bar, where the Abbe and I left De Grammont and walked up through the crowded streets to Lilly’s house.  Owing to the crowded condition of the street, the Abbe and I found no opportunity to exchange words until we were before Lilly’s house.

Lilly was at home, I having sent word of our coming, so when we knocked, the servant opened and directed us to the waiting parlor, saying that the Doctor would soon come down.

We started upstairs, I in the lead, the Abbe following ten paces behind.  When I entered the room, I found Bettina and Frances sitting by the street window.  They came to me quickly, and Frances explained Bettina’s presence.

“I did not like to come here alone, so I asked Betty to come with me.  She is to be trusted.”

“You need not assure me of that,” I answered, taking Betty’s hand.  “I already know it.  I am glad you—­”

But here I was interrupted by a soft cry from Bettina, and by a half-smothered scream from Frances, both of whom deserted me suddenly and ran toward the door I had just entered.  Turning, I saw Frances with her arms about the Abbe’s neck, and Bettina clasping one of his hands.  I thought the two had gone mad, but when Bettina saw my look of surprise and inquiry, she dropped his hand, came to me, and asked:—­

“Did you want us to pretend that we did not know him?  If so, you should have told us.”

“But you don’t know him,” I declared.

“Perhaps I don’t,” she returned, laughing softly and shrugging her shoulders, “but evidently your cousin does.  If not, she should take her arms from around his neck.”

“But she is mistaken,” I insisted.

“She seems to be convinced,” answered Bettina, with a curious little glance up to me, half laughing, half inquiring.  Evidently she was doubtful whether I spoke in jest or in earnest.

Frances still clung to the Abbe, her head resting on his shoulder, so I started toward her, intending to correct her mistake.  Bettina, seeing my purpose, caught me by the arm, saying:—­

“Don’t you really know?”

The Abbe turned his face toward me, and when I caught a glimpse of his eyes without spectacles, I recognized George Hamilton, and almost choked myself in smothering a cry.

Frances turned to me, asking indignantly, “Why did not you tell me?”

“Because I did not know,” I answered, hardly able to believe the truth.

But we had important business before us, and I knew that we should prepare for it before Lilly came in.  So George, Bettina, Frances, and I went to a window at the far end of the room to hold a consultation.