"But how close you Englishmen are!" she was saying in a wheedling tone. "I am dying of curiosity, mon ami. Tell me, then, about this immaculate, this runaway husband, this milord Anglais, who finds nothing better to do than pine away, perhaps die, for the wife he has left behind. Mon Dieu! what a nation! You are great, vous autres, in love as in war; but why does he hide? One might find a method of consoling him; pas vrai?"
L'Estrange, who had crept under the shadow of the trees, and was now walking parallel with the pair, could see by the light of one of the scattered lamps that the young man's brow darkened.
"He doesn't want such consolation as yours, Laurette. But why do you persist in questioning me? I have told you a dozen times that Maurice Grey will never be game for us—for us," he continued with a strange emphasis. "If I had taken his advice—"
She smiled—a smile that looked rather dangerous: "Your associates would not have been the same. Continue then, mon ami. Are we not friends?"
"Of course, of course," he said hastily. "Ma chère, what a little goose you are, taking up a fellow in this serious kind of style! You see, it's all your own fault—you put me out of temper by talking about that prig. I believe he has buried himself in the wilds. I saw him last in St. Petersburg; then he said he was going to the mountains. But, good gracious! how should this interest you? I shall be jealous presently, Laurette, and think you in love with my saintly cousin."
Laurette laughed—a clear, ringing laugh, but to the watchful listener it sounded hollow.
"There is sadness under that mirth," he said to himself; "she has tried her wiles on the Englishman, and tried them in vain; so much the better for him."
After a few more light words, Laurette and her companion turned into a brilliantly-lit and decorated café. L'Estrange walked slowly back to the seat where he had left Laura. His face was very pale and his fine mouth was quivering. A fear had been partially laid to rest, but it might be that even in the fear a hope, the shadow of self-love, had rested.
As he drew near to the seat where Laura had been left his steps quickened, for the murmur of her sweet voice reached his ears. Some one was speaking to her, and his unquiet conscience filled him with fear. Perhaps they were trying to steal away his treasure.