Arrived at his quarters, the Commandant applied the poker to his fire, motioned Sir Ommaney to the worn armchair, excused himself, and hurried off to seek Archelaus and discuss the chances of a cup of tea.
Sir Ommaney, left to himself, took a glance round the poverty-stricken room, and stretched out his long legs to the blaze. The evening air without had been chilly. The sea-coal in the grate, stirred by the Commandant's poker, woke to a warm glow with a small dancing flame on top. Sir Ommaney stared into the glow, lost in thought.... A tapping on the pane awoke him out of his brown study. He sat upright, but almost with the same motion he sprang to his feet as a hand pushed open the window behind him.
There was no light in the room save that afforded by the dancing, uncertain flame. It wavered, as he turned about, upon the figure of a woman entering confidently across the sill, and upon a face at sight of which he drew back almost in terror.
"Pass, friend, and all's well!" said Vashti, with a light laugh, as she effected her entrance. Then, catching sight of the man confronting her, she caught at the curtain, and said, simply, "O-oh!"
"Lord, bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Ommaney, in a low voice, but fervently.
"I—I thought you were the Commandant," stammered Vashti, for once in this history taken thoroughly aback.
"Mademoiselle Cara!... You? And here, of all places in the world!"
But upon this they both turned, as the door opened and the Commandant stood on the threshold.
"Miss Vashti!" The Commandant stared from one to the other.
Vashti broke the silence with her ready laugh.