“Only that his business was of the most urgent,” the maid replied.
Louise sighed,—she was really very sleepy. Then, as the thoughts began to crowd into her brain, she began also to remember. Some part of the excitement of a few hours ago returned.
“My bath, Annette, and a dressing-gown,” she ordered. “Tell Monsieur Bellamy that I hurry. I will be with him in twenty minutes.”
To Bellamy, the twenty minutes were minutes of purgatory. She came at last, however, fresh and eager; her hair tied up with ribbon, she herself clad in a pink dressing-gown and pink slippers.
“David!” she cried,—“my dear David—!”
Then she broke off.
“What is it?” she asked, in a different tone.
He showed her the headlines of the newspaper he was carrying.
“Tragedy!” he answered hoarsely. “Von Behrling was true, after all,—at least, it seems so.”
“What has happened?” she demanded.