The entire page upon which the eyes of the man seemed fixed was occupied by an oval-shaped portrait of a lady—of whom, Captain Desfrayne could not discern.
The fellow clenched his right hand, and shook it at the mute representation of the beautiful woman, and muttered some words in Italian, in so low a key that their import did not reach Captain Desfrayne.
The next moment the step of the latter made the valet start violently and turn. He fumbled with the paper, and tried to turn over the pages, but his hands were trembling so much that he was unable to do so; and Captain Desfrayne was at the table before he could conceal what had so much interested him.
It was the engraved portrait of the beautiful singer who had been sitting in the balcony in Porchester Square the evening before.
Paul Desfrayne looked at the man, who had not had time to compose his features. There was an expression of deadly hatred yet lingering upon them, though he evidently tried hard to master his emotion.
For an instant Captain Desfrayne felt an almost overwhelming desire to speak to him about the signora; but a second thought determined him to be silent, and appear not to have noticed the little mute scene. He resolved, however, at all hazards, to engage this man in his service; for his curiosity, if no deeper feeling, was strongly excited.
“My good fellow,” he began, in a very kindly tone, “I am sincerely sorry, but I totally forgot our arrangement. I had business of the utmost importance to attend to, and so it slipped from my memory.”
Gilardoni bowed very low, dexterously turning the paper as he did so.
“I trust you will excuse the liberty I took in waiting for you, sir,” he answered, with profound humility. “But I have no friend save you, if I can dare to call you a friend.”
Paul Desfrayne had resolved to take the fellow into his service, if he were anything short of an escaped galley-slave. He did not tell him so, however, but said very quietly: