“I will inquire again,” the man declared. “But it was in the office that they told me so.”
“They told you quite correctly,” said a familiar voice. “I have come to take her place. Countess, I trust that in me you will recognise an efficient substitute.”
It was the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer who was calmly seating himself opposite to her. The waiter, with the discretion of his class, withdrew for a few paces and stood awaiting orders. Lucille looked across at him in amazement.
“You here?” she exclaimed, “and Muriel gone? What does this mean?”
The Prince leaned forward.
“It means,” he said, “that after you left I was in torment. I felt that you had no one with you who could be of assistance supposing the worst happened. Muriel is all very well, but she is a woman, and she has no diplomacy, no resource. I felt, Lucille, that I should not be happy unless I myself saw you into safety.”
“So you followed us here,” Lucille remarked quietly.
“Exactly! You do not blame me. It was for your sake—as well as my own.”
“And Muriel—why has she left me without farewell—without warning of any sort?”
The Prince smiled and stroked his fair moustache.