She turned to see the Franciscan—no longer masked, but now gazing at her from a frank, laughing countenance, still partially veiled by the brown cowl that was drawn up close about his head.
"Henry Gramont!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I half suspected that it was you——"
"But you were not sure?" he chuckled. "You're not offended with me, Lucie?"
"I should be." She tossed her head. "You were impertinent, M. le prince!"
He made a distasteful gesture. "None of that, Lucie! You know I don't like it——"
"Oh, la, la!" she mocked him. "M. le prince is seeing America, n'est ce pas? He has come to America to find a rich wife, is it not?"
Gramont's face lost its smile, and suddenly became almost harsh.
"I shall call upon you at four to-morrow, Lucie," he said, abruptly, and turned. Nor did he pause to get her reply. An instant afterward Lucie was surrounded by a merry group of friends, and she saw no more of Henry Gramont.
About five minutes later those in the ballroom distinctly heard, through the open windows, the heavy pulsations of an airplane motor.