"Oh—I hardly know. Except that she is of a great beauty, and—in her way—of a strange attraction. And then, also, as no doubt Togo told Madame la Duchesse, la Pavoya called to-day."
"Called to-day!" echoed Juliet. "You don't mean here?"
"But yes, Madame. Did not Madame know? I was about to go out with the bulldog. Being permitted to pass down by the front stairs, I saw the lady arrive. To be sure, she had on a thick embroidered veil through which, perhaps, many people would not recognize the most famous features. But my eyes are sharp. And then, her figure! There are not two such. Though, to my taste, that of Madame la Duchesse is more alluring, more human. The dancer is a mere sprite! I said to myself, 'It must be about the charity performance for the Armenians that she is here to consult with my mistress'!"
As she thus interpreted her own impressions, Simone busied herself in getting Juliet's ermine cloak, which previously she had laid ready on the bed. Sometimes, when the Claremanaghs were going out together in the evening, the Duke came in and took his wife's coat from Simone, slipping it in a leisurely and loving way over the white arms, as if he never tired of touching the adorable creature who belonged to him. But Simone did not think he would come to perform that office to-night; and besides, she wanted an excuse to escape from her mistress's great, wide-open blue eyes. The maid had taken a tactful way of explaining the dancer's (possible) motive for calling; because if she dared to accuse the Duke by a hint, the Duchess would be bound to stop her.
Juliet was struck dumb for a moment. She would not have thought, after what had passed between her and Pat, that she could be surprised by anything concerning him and Pavoya, but now she knew that she could be astounded.
Pavoya had called! Togo had let her in, the traitor! bribed by Claremanagh, who had sunk low enough even for that! Still, had Togo let the woman in? It was easy to make sure.
"A pity I was out," Juliet said. "I suppose she went away when she heard that?"
"No, Madame, she came in," replied Simone with the innocence of a child. "I do not know how long she stayed. Monsieur le Duc will tell Madame that. It was to his study that Togo took her."
"Oh, very well. I can ask him what message she left," Juliet promptly cut short this confidence. She had no wish to learn more, and her suppression of Simone was no triumph of honour over curiosity. She felt a sick, languid repulsion against the whole subject, for she knew the worst now, and any further information would be a kind of horrid anti-climax.
"Oh, Pat, Pat!" her heart mourned. "How has my idol fallen! And he talked so nobly about never lying!"