to go, and I seized
the opportunity the moment he had left, and before the waiter could
clear the table I had secured the bottle.

"We won't risk soda-water," I said. "Whiskey and water is good
enough."

The one waiter whom I disliked--a creature of Louis', as I knew
well--came hurrying forward and endeavored to possess himself of the
bottle.

"Let me get you another bottle of whiskey, sir," he said.

I shook my head.

"This one will do, thank you," I said.

"Soda-water or Perrier, sir?" he asked.

"Neither, thank you," I answered.

The man moved away, and I saw him in a corner talking to
Louis. Lamartine served the grouse, and leaned across the table to me.

"Captain Rotherby," he said, "I think I will tell you now why,
notwithstanding the risk of Monsieur Louis, I asked you to lunch with
me here at this restaurant. But look! See who comes!"

He laid his fingers upon my coat-sleeve. I turned my head. Felicia was
sailing down the room,--Felicia exquisitely dressed as usual, walking
with a soft rustle of lace,--delightful, alluring; and in her wake
Delora himself, tall, well-groomed, aristocratic, looking around him
with mild but slightly bored interest. Louis was piloting them to a
table, the best in the place. We watched them seat themselves. Delora,
through a horn-rimmed eyeglass, studied the menu. Felicia, drawing off
her gloves, looked a little wearily out into the busy courtyard. So
they were sitting when the thing happened which Lamartine, I believe,
had expected, but which, for me, was the most wonderful thing that had
yet come to pass amongst this tangle of strange circumstances!

CHAPTER XXXVIII

AT BAY

The entrance of these two persons into the room, apart from its
astonishing significance to us, seemed to excite a certain amount of
interest amongst the ordinary throng. My lady of the turquoises wore
a dark-blue closely fitting gown, which only a Paris tailor could have
cut, a large and striking hat, and a great bunch of red roses in the
front of her dress. But, after all, it was upon her companion, not
upon her, that our regard was riveted. He was dressed with the neat
exactitude of a Frenchman of fashion. He wore a red ribbon in his
button-hole. His white hair and moustaches were perfectly arranged. He
leaned heavily upon a stick, and he had the appearance of a man
prematurely aged, as though by an illness or some great suffering. His
tone, as he turned to his companion, was courte