She led him through salon after salon. In the flickering light he could only just discern that they were richly furnished. At last she stopped and tapped at a closed door.
He was admitted into an apartment of costly and tasteful comfort, lit with warm soft radiance from a shaded pedestal lamp. Pine logs were burning on the hearth of a high stone fireplace. To one side stood a grand piano. A great dog, stretched before the hearth, growled surlily. These were salient details he was scarcely conscious of noting. His eyes were held by the woman who rose from an arm-chair by the fire.
Tall, gowned simply in a long robe of soft pale green, the lamplight shimmered on the waved masses of her auburn hair as she moved. Not vulgarly beautiful—the mouth was large, though well-cut—an oval ivory-white face looked into his. No longer very young—she was at least thirty—her instantly felt charm came accentuated by a hint of incomplete maturity. Those quiet eyes could still look at life with a questioning scrutiny, receptive of the new experience. They met his now and a personality leaped into them, communed with him ere yet a word had been uttered. Outwardly, only, they were still strangers. He noticed that she wore no jewellery as he bowed courteously, fez in hand.
"Madame, I am the colonel of the —th Regiment of Zouaves. A necessity, that must be disagreeable to you, forces me to ask your hospitality for my officers and men."
"For to-night only?" Her voice was singularly deep and rich.
"Perhaps for several, madame."
"You are many?"
"Eleven hundred men and twenty officers."
"A strong battalion!"
"Three battalions, madame," he corrected gently.