Eve and Kitty ran off, just as if it was an affair of seconds, and the bracelet had to be saved from drowning. But they had scarcely turned the corner, thirty yards away, when they reappeared in company with a high official of police, whom, by the most lucky chance in the world, they had encountered in the covered passage leading to the Place du Bourg. This official, instantly enslaved by Kitty’s beauty, proved to be the very mirror of politeness and optimism. He took their names and addresses, and a full description of the bracelet, and informed them that at that place the canal was nine feet deep. He said that the bracelet should undoubtedly be recovered on the morrow, but that, as dusk was imminent, it would be futile to commence angling that night. In the meantime the loss should be kept secret; and to make all sure, a succession of gendarmes should guard the spot during the night.
Kitty grew radiant, and rewarded the gallant officer with smiles; Eve was satisfied, and the face of Madame Lawrence wore a less mournful hue.
“And now,” said Kitty to Madame, when everything had been arranged, and the first of the gendarmes was duly installed at the exact spot against the railings, “you must come and take tea with us in our winter garden; and be gay! Smile: I insist. And I insist that you don’t worry.”
Madame Lawrence tried feebly to smile.
“You are very good-natured,” she stammered.
Which was decidedly true.
II.
The winter-garden of the Hôtel de la Grande Place, referred to in all the hotel’s advertisements, was merely the inner court of the hotel, roofed in by glass at the height of the first storey. Cane flourished there, in the shape of lounge-chairs, but no other plant. One of the lounge-chairs was occupied when, just as the carillon in the belfry at the other end of the Place began to play Gounod’s “Nazareth,” indicating the hour of five o’clock, the three ladies entered the winter-garden. Apparently the toilettes of two of them had been adjusted and embellished as for a somewhat ceremonious occasion.
“Lo!” cried Kitty Sartorius, when she perceived the occupant of the chair, “the millionaire! Mr. Thorold, how charming of you to reappear like this! I invite you to tea.”
Cecil Thorold rose with appropriate eagerness.