When the countess returned to the room, garbed for departure, she found him seated at the piano, playing gently with a sentimental touch. He rose at her entrance, performed a polite bow.
"Madame, you appear to have a very interesting house," he said in his stiff French; "would you do me the honour of escorting me over it?"
The countess stared at him, dumbfounded. Were her prayers miraculously answered? Delay!—delay!—delay!
"If you wish, monsieur," she answered in a calm, controlled voice. Following the twin thought in her brain, her eyes searched the carpet.
He noticed the glance, drew the letter from his pocket.
"I think you dropped this, madame," he said, handing it to her.
She took it from him. Had he read it? The blonde face that met her questioning gaze was impassive under its smiling courtesy.
For an instant they confronted each other. With a cynical sense of superiority, pleasant to himself, he read her delight at his unexpected request, carefully though she tried to disguise it, read her quickly banished doubt that he had penetrated her scheme, was counter-plotting. He could almost phrase her thankful prayer to God—begging for a continuance of the miracle—that the barbarian had thus delivered himself into the strong hands of her lover. He would surely come! Both as they stood thus silent were calculating the necessary minutes—but his calculation was a double one. With the politest of bows, he opened the door for her.
Together they went through salon after salon, candlelit since he refused to have the shutters opened. In contrast with his previous manner, he displayed not the least haste. Leisurely he lingered over each piece, discussed it, appraised it with real connoisseurship as though he were merely a cultured guest. She loitered willingly, her brain on fire, every sense at strain. The precious moments were accumulating. She found new treasures for his admiration, racked her memory for rare objects that might hold him yet a little longer. He handled them, was enthusiastic, with calm audacity regretted this terrible war which imperilled so many beautiful things. Not once did he depart from his attitude of studied politeness. And while he spoke she was listening—listening—for the sudden shout, the quick close detonations, which should announce her deliverance.