suppose so,” she replied with amiable indifference. “Everybody knows me.”
She did not ask his name; he did not offer to enlighten her. What difference, after all, could the name of an American student make to the idol of Europe, Nihla Quellen?
“I’m in a mess,” she remarked presently. “He will be quite furious with me. It is going to be most disagreeable for me to go back into that house. He has really an atrocious temper when made ridiculous.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” he said, sobered by her seriousness.
She laughed:
“Oh, pouf! I really don’t care. But perhaps you had better leave me now. I’ve spoiled your moonlight picture, haven’t I?”
“But think what you have given me to make amends!” he replied.
She turned and caught his hands in hers with adorable impulsiveness:
“You’re a sweet boy – do you know it! We’ve had a heavenly time, haven’t we? Do you really think you ought to go – so soon?”
“Don’t you think so, Nihla?”
“I don’t want you to go. Anyway, there’s a train every two hours – ”
“I’ve a canoe down by the landing. I shall paddle back as I came – ”
“A canoe!” she exclaimed, enchanted. “Will you take me with you?”
“To Paris?”
“Of course! Will you?”
“In your ball-gown?”
“I’d adore it! Will you?”
“That is an absolutely crazy suggestion,” he said.
“I know it. The world is only a big asylum. There’s a path to the river behind these bushes. Quick – pick up your painting traps – ”
“But, Nihla, dear – ”
“Oh, please! I’m dying to run away with you!”
“To Paris?” he demanded, still incredulous that the girl really meant it.
“Of course! You can get a taxi at the Pont-au-Change and take me home. Will you?”
“It would be wonderful, of course – ”
“It will be paradise!” she exclaimed, slipping her hand into his. “Now, let us run like the dickens!”
In the uncertain moonlight, filtering through the shrubbery, they found a hidden path to the river; and they took it together, lightly, swiftly, speeding down the slope, all breathless with laughter, along the moonlit way.
In the suburban villa of the Comte d’Eblis a wine-flushed and very noisy company danced on, supped at midnight, continued the revel into the starlit morning hours. The place was a jungle of confetti.
Their host, restless, mortified, angry, perplexed by turns, was becoming obsessed at length with dull premonitions and vaguer alarms.
He waddled out to the lawn several times, still wearing his fancy gilt and tissue cap, and called:
“Nihla! Damnation! Answer me, you little fool!”
He went down to the river, where the gaily painted row-boats and punts lay, and scanned the silvered 26 flood, tortured by indefinite apprehensions. About dawn he started toward the weed-grown, slippery river-stairs for the last time, still crowned with his tinsel cap; and there in the darkness he found his aged boat-man, fishing for gudgeon with a four-cornered net suspended to the end of a bamboo pole.
“Have you see anything of Mademoiselle Nihla?” he demanded, in a heavy, unsteady voice, tremulous with indefinable fears.
“Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle Quellen went out in a canoe with a young gentleman.”
“W-what is that you tell me!” faltered the Comte d’Eblis, turning grey in the face.
“Last night, about ten o’clock, M’sieu le Comte. I was out in the moonlight fishing for eels. She came down to the shore – took a canoe yonder by the willows. The young man had a double-bladed paddle. They were singing.”
“They – they have not returned?”
“No, M’sieu le Comte – ”
“Who was the – man?”
“I could not see – ”
“Very well.” He turned and looked down the dusky river out of light-coloured, murderous eyes. Then, always awkward in his gait, he retraced his steps to the house. There a servant accosted him on the terrace:
“The telephone, if Monsieur le Comte pleases – ”
“Who is calling?” he demanded with a flare of fury.
“Paris, if it pleases Monsieur le Comte.”
The Count d’Eblis went to his own quarters, seated himself, and picked up the receiver:
“Who is it?” he asked thickly.
“Max Freund.”
“What has h-happened?” he stammered in sudden terror.
Over the wire came the distant reply, perfectly clear and distinct:
“Ferez Bey was arrested in his own house at dinner last evening, and was immediately conducted to the frontier, escorted by Government detectives… Is Nihla with you?”
The Count’s teeth were chattering now. He managed to say:
“No, I don’t know where she is. She was dancing. Then, all at once, she was gone. Of what was Colonel Ferez suspected?”
“I don’t know. But perhaps we might guess.”
“Are you followed?”
“Yes.”
“By – by whom?”
“By Souchez… Good-bye, if I don’t see you. I join Ferez. And look out for Nihla. She’ll trick you yet!”
The Count d’Eblis called:
“Wait, for God’s sake, Max!” – listened; called again in vain. “The one-eyed rabbit!” he panted, breathing hard and irregularly. His large hand shook as he replaced the instrument. He sat there as though paralysed, for a moment or two. Mechanically he removed his tinsel cap and thrust it into the pocket of his evening coat. Suddenly the dull hue of anger dyed neck, ears and temple:
“By God!” he gasped. “What is that she-devil trying to do to me? What has she done!”
After another moment of staring fixedly at nothing, he opened the table drawer, picked up a pistol and poked it into his breast pocket.
Then he rose, heavily, and stood looking out
