The young lady from Austria paid her bill and departed somewhat hastily. The Vicomte smiled.
"I think we shall frighten a few of them away to-night!" he remarked. "The wine! Good! We shall need magnums to drown our regrets, if indeed our English friends desert us to-morrow. Monsieur Guy Poynton, unconscious maker of history and savior of your country, I congratulate you upon your whole skin, and I drink your health."
Guy drank, and, laughing, refilled his glass.
"And to you, the best of amateur conspirators and most charming of hosts," he said. "Come soon to England and bring your automobile, and we will conspire against you with a policeman and a stopwatch."
The Vicomte sighed and glanced towards Phyllis.
"In happier circumstances!" he murmured, and then catching the Marquise's eye, he was silent.
The band played English music, and the chef sent them up a wonderful omelette. Mademoiselle Ermine, from the Folies Bergères, danced in the small space between the tables, and the Vicomte, buying a cluster of pink roses from the flower-girl, sent them across to her with a diamond pin in the ribbon. The Marquise rebuked him half seriously, but he only laughed.
"To-night," he said, "is the end of a great adventure. We amateurs have justified our existence. To-night I give away all that I choose. Ah, Angèle!" he murmured, in her dainty little ear, "if I had but a heart to give!"
She flashed a quick smile into his face, but her forehead was wrinkled.
"You have lost it to the young English miss. She is beautiful, but so cold!"