"Entrez!" was the shrill response.
Their guide ushered Henriette and Aaron Rodd into a tiny little apartment, prettily furnished notwithstanding the bare floors. Mademoiselle Larilly was standing before a pier-glass, admiring herself. She swept round at their entrance.
"Madame?" she murmured in surprise.
The manager spoke a hasty word or two of explanation, in French, and disappeared. Henriette waited until the door was closed. Then she turned to the girl.
"Mademoiselle," she said, "I owe you, perhaps, an apology for this unusual visit. I come for your sake as well as my own and another's. Will you tell me, please, who lent you the diamond which you wear?"
The girl held it tightly to her bosom:
"It has not been lent to me," she declared. "It is given."
"But that is not possible," Henriette protested. "Do you know that the jewel you are wearing is worth nearly a million francs?"
The girl started but she simply shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, la, la!" she exclaimed. "What do I care? It was given me by a gentleman, not an Englishman, and no one has any right to ask me questions about it. I do not receive here, mademoiselle. I have but a few minutes to rest. If you would please go."