"If monsieur goes alone?"
"I fear so," I answered, "unless mademoiselle—"
She laid her fingers upon my lips.
"Monsieur does not know the elderly gentleman and the very beautiful girl who sat opposite him last night?" she asked,—"Monsieur Delora and his niece?"
Somehow I felt convinced, the moment that the question had left her lips, that her whole interest in me was centred upon my reply. She concealed her impatience very well, but I realized that, for some reason or other, I was sitting there by her side solely that I might answer that question.
"I heard their names last night for the first time," I declared. "It was Louis who told me about them."
She looked at me for several moments as though anxious to be sure that I had spoken the truth.
"Mademoiselle!" I said reproachfully. "Let us leave these topics. I am not interested in the Deloras, or Louis, or Monsieur Bartot. Last night is finished, and to-morrow I leave. Let us talk for a few moments of ourselves."
She held up her finger suddenly.
"Listen!" she exclaimed, in a voice of terror.