“You don’t mean,” he stammered, “you can’t possibly mean that you were the wife....”
She nodded, white to the lips. Then suddenly her face changed, the blood rushed back into it, and she was smiling gaily.
Selden, more astonished than ever, looked around to see two men approaching, one old and rather fat, but with a keen, distinguished face, embellished by a monocle; the other young and slim, thirty at the most, perhaps less than that....
“Dear countess!” cried the elder man, in French, and raised her hand and kissed it. “I have been searching for you everywhere. Permit me to present to you Prince Danilo. My prince,” he added, turning to the young man, “this is the Countess Rémond, of whom you have heard me so often speak.”
CHAPTER II
A TRAGIC MEMORY
AS the prince bowed, with much empressement, above the slim hand extended to him, Selden was conscious of a rapid but penetrating scrutiny on the part of the older man. It was as if an X-ray had been plunged into the innermost recesses of his being, photographed everything that was to be seen there, and been instantly withdrawn. He had never seen more remarkable eyes—which was perhaps why their owner ambushed one of them behind a glass; nor a more remarkable face, alert, high-nosed, finely coloured, with a mouth at once forceful and good-humoured, and an air that bespoke wide knowledge and deep experience.
“Enchanted to meet you, madame,” the prince was murmuring in the most approved fashion. “It is true that the baron has spoken often of you.”
“M. le Baron does me too much honour,” protested the countess.
“Impossible, madame,” countered the baron. “To prove to you how much in earnest I am, I have come all the way from Nice expressly to pay you my respects, having learned only this morning, quite by accident, that you were here. Why did you not inform me?”
“Ah,” murmured the countess, “I know how busy you always are!”