"Still talking--talking--like the soft murmur of peaceful waves. Ah! a laugh! By all that's natural, a woman's laugh! It is a woman! And I should know that silvery sound. There is a special music in a laugh which cannot be mistaken. It is distinctive--characteristic.
"Ah, my lady, my lady! Fair face, false heart--but woman, woman all over!"
And Pierre Lamont rubbed his hands, and also laughed--but his laugh was like his speech, silent, voiceless.
CHAPTER IX
[CHRISTIAN ALMER RECEIVES TWO VISITORS]
Upon Christian Almer's desk lay the note written by Adelaide. He saw it the moment he entered the room, and knew, therefore, that some person had called during his absence. At first he thought it must have been the Advocate, who, not finding him in his room, had left the note for him; but as he opened the envelope a faint perfume floated from it.
"It is from Adelaide," he murmured. "How often and how vainly have I warned her!"
He read the note:
"Dear Christian:
"I cannot sleep until I wish you good-night, with no horrid people around us. Let me see you for one minute only.