“Poor man,” she said mockingly. “It is always the same when you and Souspennier meet.”
He set his teeth.
“This time,” he muttered, “I hold the trumps.”
She pointed at the clock. It was nearly four. “She was there at eleven,” she remarked drily.
CHAPTER XXII
“His Highness, the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer!”
Duson stood away from the door with a low bow. The Prince—in the buttonhole of whose frock-coat was a large bunch of Russian violets, passed across the threshold. Mr. Sabin rose slowly from his chair.
“I fear,” the Prince said suavely, “that I am an early visitor. I can only throw myself upon your indulgence and plead the urgency of my mission.”
His arrival appeared to have interrupted a late breakfast of the Continental order. The small table at which Lucille and Mr. Sabin were seated was covered with roses and several dishes of wonderful fruit. A coffee equipage was before Lucille. Mr. Sabin, dressed with his usual peculiar care and looking ten years younger, had just lit a cigarette.