When he had finished his cigar, he said: "I hope you have not left any valuables in your room. It is not safe."
"Oh no," said Nancy; "I haven't."
"Have you given them to the office?"
"No," said Nancy—"no;" and suddenly she remembered that she had told him in her letters that she wore jewels all over her.
Without looking up, he said: "Will you give me your purse? I will take care of it."
Nancy felt that if she went on flushing any more her hair would catch fire. She drew out her purse and handed it to him. He opened it slowly and deliberately. He took out the three sous and the two francs, and put them into his pocket. Then he opened the middle division, and looked at the twenty-franc piece. He took it out and placed it on the table. Then he went through all the other compartments, gazing pensively at an unused tramway ticket and at a medal of the Madonna del Monte. He put those back again, and handed Nancy the purse. The twenty-franc piece he put into a purse of his own, and into his pocket.
"Now let us go for a drive," he said.
Nancy, feeling dazed, rustled away, and took the lift to her room. She pinned on her hat, took her coat and gloves, and just caught the lift again as it was passing down. When he saw her, he said "That was quick," and they went out together. A victoria was waiting for them. The porter was profusely polite, and the horses started off at a loose trot down the Boulevards and towards the Étoile. He asked her many questions during the drive, and in her answers she was as much as possible the Girl of the Letters.
He sounded her about Monte Carlo, and she was glad that she was quite au courant, and could mention systems and the Café de Paris.
"Would you like to go there again?" he asked.