"If there are any friends or relatives still alive of Count Leonardo di Marioni, who has recently been set free by the Italian Government after a long term of imprisonment, they are requested to communicate, personally, if possible, with the manager of the Hotel Continental, where the Count is now lying dangerously ill."
CHAPTER XIV
AN EVERLASTING HATE
At four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day, an open barouche, drawn by a pair of magnificent bay horses, drove up to the door of the Hotel Continental. The manager, who was standing at the window of his private room, noticed two things—first, that there was a coronet upon the carriage door; and secondly, that the lady who was alighting carried in her hand a copy of the Morning Post turned down, as though to mark a certain place in it.
As she crossed the pavement he had a better view of her face, and recognized her with a little start of surprise. In a moment he was outside, and on the steps to receive her, an attention he very rarely bestowed upon his guests.
The swing doors opened and closed, and the lady, with the paper still in her hand, turned to the manager.
"Do you know anything about this paragraph?" she asked, touching it with her delicately-gloved forefinger. "The one, I mean, which concerns the Count di Marioni?"
"Certainly, your ladyship," he answered. "I inserted it myself."
"He is still here, I suppose?"