She corrected him in a soft, low voice.
"My name is Sabine-Charles."
"Sabine, darling. It is very prosaic of me, perhaps, but do you know that I am nearly starved? I came on here at once. I have had no breakfast."
"Nor have I," she answered, smiling. "I was thinking of it when-when you appeared like a whirlwind, and since then, events have moved so fast."
"Are you sorry, Sabine? Would you rather go back to-to-before?"
She made a pretty gesture of closing his traitor lips with her small hand. "Not for worlds. But you soldiers-you are terrible men! Who can resist you?"
"Bah! It is you who are irresistible. But there, why not put on your jacket and let us go out to lunch somewhere-Durand's, Voisin's, the Café de le Paix? Which do you prefer?"
"I suppose they will not try to stop us?"
"Who should try?" he asked.
"The people of the hotel-the police-I cannot exactly say whom; but I dread something of the sort. I don't quite understand that manager. He has been up to see me several times, and he spoke rather oddly, rather rudely."
"Then he shall answer for it," snorted Sir Charles, hotly. "It is the fault of that brute of a detective, I suppose. Still they would hardly dare-"
"A detective? What? Here? Are you sure?"
"Perfectly sure. It is one of those from the Lyons Station. I knew him again directly, and he was inclined to be interfering. Why, I caught him trying-but that reminds me-I rescued this telegram from his clutches."
He took the little blue envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to her, kissing the tips of her fingers as she took it from him.
"Ah!"
A sudden ejaculation of dismay escaped her, when, after rather carelessly tearing the message open, she had glanced at it.
"What is the matter?" he asked in eager solicitude. "May I not know?"
She made no offer to give him the telegram, and said in a faltering voice, and with much hesitation of manner, "I do not know. I hardly think-of course I do not like to withhold anything, not now. And yet, this is a business which concerns me only, I am afraid. I ought not to drag you into it."
"What concerns you is very much my business, too. I do not wish to force your confidence, still-"
She gave him the telegram quite obediently, with a little sigh of relief, glad to realise now, for the first time after many years, that there was some one to give her orders and take the burden of trouble off her shoulders.
He read it, but did not understand it in the least. It ran: "I must see you immediately, and beg you will come. You will find Hortense here. She is giving trouble. You only can deal with her. Do not delay. Come at once, or we must go to you.-Ripaldi, Hotel Ivoire, Rue Bellechasse."
"What does this mean? Who sends it? Who is Ripaldi?" asked Sir Charles, rather brusquely.
"He-he-oh, Charles, I shall have to go. Anything would be better than his coming here."
"Ripaldi? Haven't I heard the name? He was one of those in the sleeping-car, I think? The Chief of the Detective Police called it out once or twice. Am I not right? Please tell me-am I not right?"
"Yes, yes; this man was there with the rest of us. A dark man, who sat near the door-"
"Ah, to be sure. But what-what in Heaven's name has he to do with you? How does he dare to send you such an impudent message as this? Surely, Sabine, you will tell me? You will admit that I have a right to ask?"
"Yes, of course. I will tell you, Charles, everything; but not here-not now. It must be on the way. I have been very wrong, very foolish-but oh, come, come, do let us be going. I am so afraid he might-"
"Then I may go with you? You do not object to that?"
"I much prefer it-much. Do let us make haste!"
She snatched up her sealskin jacket, and held it to him prettily, that he might help her into it, which he did neatly and cleverly, smoothing her great puffed-out sleeves under each shoulder of the coat, still talking eagerly and taking no toll for his trouble as she stood patiently, passively before him.
"And this Hortense? It is your maid, is it not-the woman who had taken herself off? How comes it that she is with that Italian fellow? Upon my soul, I don't understand-not a little bit."
"I cannot explain that, either. It is most strange, most incomprehensible, but we shall soon know. Please, Charles, please do not get impatient."
They passed together down into the hotel courtyard and across it, under the archway which led past the clerk's desk into the street.
On seeing them, he came out hastily and placed himself in front, quite plainly barring their egress.
"Oh, madame, one moment," he said in a tone that was by no means conciliatory. "The manager wants to speak to you; he told me to tell you, and stop you if you went out."
"The manager can speak to madame when she returns," interposed the General angrily, answering for the Countess.
"I have had my orders, and I cannot allow her-"
"Stand aside, you scoundrel!" cried the General, blazing up; "or upon my soul I shall give you such a lesson you will be sorry you were ever born."
At this moment the manager himself appeared in reinforcement, and the clerk turned to him for protection and support.
"I was merely giving madame your message, M. Auguste, when this gentleman interposed, threatened me, maltreated me-"
"Oh, surely not; it is some mistake;" the manager spoke most suavely. "But certainly I did wish to speak to madame. I wished to ask her whether she was satisfied with her apartment. I find that the rooms she has generally occupied have fallen vacant, in the nick of time. Perhaps madame would like to look at them, and move?"
"Thank you, M. Auguste, you are very good; but at another time. I am very much pressed just now. When I return in an hour or two, not now."
The manager was profuse in his apologies, and made no further difficulty.
"Oh, as you please, madame. Perfectly. By and by, later, when you choose."
The fact was, the desired result had been obtained. For now, on the far side from where he had been watching, Galipaud appeared, no doubt in reply to some secret signal, and the detective with a short nod in acknowledgment had evidently removed his embargo.
A cab was called, and Sir Charles, having put the Countess in, was turning to give the driver his instructions, when a fresh complication arose.
Some one coming round the corner had caught a glimpse of the lady disappearing into the fiacre, and cried out from afar.
"Stay! Stop! I want to speak to that lady; detain her." It was the sharp voice of little M. Flocon, whom most of those present, certainly the Countess and Sir Charles, immediately recognised.
"No, no, no-don't let them keep me-I cannot wait now," she whispered in earnest, urgent appeal. It was not lost on her loyal and devoted friend.
"Go on!" he shouted to the cabman, with all the peremptory insistence of one trained to give words of command. "Forward! As fast as you can drive. I'll pay you double fare. Tell him where to go, Sabine. I'll follow-in less than no time."
The fiacre rattled off at top speed, and the General turned to confront M. Flocon.
The little detective was white to the lips with rage and disappointment; but he also was a man of promptitude, and before falling foul of this pestilent Englishman, who had again marred his plans, he shouted to Galipaud-"Quick! After them! Follow her wherever she goes. Take this,"-he thrust a paper into his subordinate's hand. "It is a warrant for her arrest. Seize her wherever you find her, and bring her to the Quai l'Horloge," the euphemistic title of the headquarters of the French police.