"Monsieur Ivanitch," she said after a moment, and with as he fancied a slight air of constraint, "begs that you will excuse him, as he will take his coffee upstairs."
"Of course. I hope that I haven't interfered----"
"It doesn't matter," she put in quickly. "Something happened which disturbed him. He is overworked and often distraught with nerves."
"I'm sorry."
"He is accustomed to being much alone," she added with an abstracted air.
"I won't bother him much longer. I'll be off in a moment. But I regret to go without knowing something more of you, Mademoiselle. Your kindness in spite of the hostility of Monsieur Ivanitch, your fear for my safety last night----"
"I--I merely thought that--that if you bolted your door you would be able to pass a night of rest."
Her manner was not altogether convincing. He looked at her soberly and went on softly.
"I'm not a meddler by nature, Mademoiselle," he continued, "but I do confess to a devouring curiosity. The organization to which you belong is secret. I can perhaps guess some of its purposes, but the mystery which I have met on every hand----"
"I can tell you nothing," she said, her eyes averted.