"Madam is tired?" a respectful voice murmured at her ear.
Diana started. She had forgotten the valet. "It is so hot. The tent was stifling," she said evasively.
Gaston's devotion was of a kind that sought practical demonstration. "Madame veut du cafe?" he suggested tentatively. It was his universal panacea, but at the moment it sounded almost grotesque.
Diana felt an hysterical desire to laugh which nearly turned into tears, but she checked herself. "No, it is too late."
"In one little moment I will bring it," Gaston urged persuasively, unwilling to give up his own gratification in serving her.
"No, Gaston. It makes me nervous," she said gently.
Gaston heaved quite a tragic sigh. His own nerves were steel and his capacity for imbibing large quantities of black coffee at any hour of the day or night unlimited.
"Une limonade?" he persisted hopefully.
She let him bring the cool drink more for his pleasure than for her own. "Monseigneur is late," she said slowly, straining her eyes again into the darkness.
"He will come," replied Gaston confidently. "Kopec is restless, he is always so when Monseigneur is coming."