urts might as well have been written in
Sanscrit for all the impression it made upon him.

He endured his own impatience resolutely for the stated time, and then
walked back to the hotel. His messenger had not yet returned, but there
in the vestibule was Ralston, in his brigandish sombrero and his black
velvet jacket, looking so fit and wholesome that Paul envied him.

'I have just met two of the boys,'said Ralston, 'and we are going to
breakfast at the Poule d'Or at twelve o'clock. Will you make one of us?
I can promise you good talk, and honest fare, and wholesome wine.'

'I should like it,' Paul answered awkwardly; 'but the fact is, I can't
tell whether I am free to go. I dare say I shall be able to give you an
answer in an hour, if that will do?'

'We must make it do,' said Ralston, and at that instant Paul's messenger
returned, and handed to him a large envelope of faint saffron tone.

It bore an armorial device on one side in gold and scarlet, and on the
other a superscription in a handwriting which had been so trained to
affectation that it was recognisable at a glance to anyone who had once
seen it.

'You will excuse me,' said Paul; 'I may have to answer this at once.'

He stepped a little on one side and broke the envelope open with the
certainty in his mind that Ralston had noticed his eagerness and saw
how his fingers trembled. The thick embossed notepaper held three words
only, or, rather, two words and an initial: 'Breakfast, noon.--G.' His
face flushed with triumph, and he turned impulsively on Ralston.

'I find,' he said, with a vivacity in strong contrast with his previous
manner, 'that I can't come to-day, but I hope you'll give me another
chance. Supposing you and your friends are at liberty for this evening,
will you bring them to dine with me? I can trust the Poule d'Or; I know
it of old.'

'Good,' said Ralston. 'If they are at liberty, we'll be there. What time
shall we say? Seven?'

'Seven,' Paul answered brightly.

But a new confusion fell upon him. Not a muscle of Ralston's swarthy
clear-cut face or the full-bearded lips moved, but there was a dancing
little demon of not more than half-malicious humour in his eyes.

'Seven,' Paul repeated. 'You'll excuse me now? You won't think my haste
unfriendly?'

'My dear fellow!' cried Ralston, the fun rioting in his eyes by this
time, though his features were as still as those of a graven image.

'Well,' said Paul, with a desperate, fruitles