“Yes—I must be getting back.”
“But is it true, Danilo, that you have all that money in your purse?”
“Yes, it is true.”
“It is very foolish—and very dangerous.”
“Dangerous? In Monte Carlo, where one meets a gendarme at every ten steps? Besides—do not worry—I shall place it in the bank as soon as possible. Unless—have you need of some?” and he thrust his hand in his pocket.
“Ah, no!” she said quickly, with a gesture of repugnance.
“It is yours if you want it,” he persisted, his hand still in his pocket, a strange smile on his lips.
“I do not want it,” she answered quietly.
“Then good night,” said the prince. “You have been very good to me, madame; I shall never forget it, and shall wish you happiness always. And you, monsieur,” he continued to Selden, “I regret that it has not been my privilege to know you better—I feel that we might have been friends. But I wish you all good fortune.” He hesitated, his eyes on Selden’s, as though debating whether to say something more; then, with a little shake of the head, turned to Miss Fayard. “And to you, mademoiselle, again I say good luck. I am sure you will bring good luck to others. How old are you?” he added, as though struck by a sudden thought.
“I am nineteen, M. le Prince.”