“Into the small salon, madame,” replied the lad.
“Quite right. Attend Madame Wyvil thither. Go, my dear. Do not keep your friend a moment waiting,” said the baroness, sympathetically.
Lilith left the room, attended by the page, and crossed the hall to enter the small salon overlooking the Champs d’Elysées.
The young page opened the door for her to pass in, and then closed it and retired.
Mr. Alfred Ancillon, or Señor Zuniga, stood in the middle of the bright room, looking the image of glorious, immortal youth.
He came eagerly forward and opened his arms.
Lilith fell upon his bosom in a passion of joyous sobs and tears.
He embraced her warmly, straining her to his heart, pressing kisses on her face, before either of them spoke a syllable.
Their first utterances were almost incoherent in their gladness.
“Oh, thank Heaven that you still live!”