Karloff! Warburton's chin sank into his collar and his hands trembled.
This man Karloff had very penetrating eyes, even in the dark.
"But I shall miss the music which I promised myself. Ah, if you only knew how adorable you are when you play the violin! I become lost, I forget the world and its sordidness. I forget everything but that mysterious voice which you alone know how to arouse from that little box of wood. You are a great artist, and if you were before the public, the world would go mad over you—as I have!"
So she played the violin, thought the unhappy man on the box of the coupe.
"Count, you know that is taboo; you must not talk to me like that,"—with a nervous glance at the groom.
"The groom embarrasses you?" The count laughed. "Well, it is only a groom, an animal which does not understand these things."
"Besides, I do not play nearly so well as you would have me believe,"—steering him to safer channels.
"Whatever you undertake, Mademoiselle, becomes at once an art,"—gallantly. "Good night!"—and the count saluted her hand as he helped her into the coupe.
How M'sieu Zhames would have liked to jump down and pommel Monsieur le Comte! Several wicked thoughts surged through our jehu's brain, but to execute any one of them in her presence was impossible.
"Good night, Count. I shall see you at dinner on Monday."
She would, eh? And her new butler would be on duty that same evening? Without a doubt. M'sieu Zhames vowed under his breath that if he got a good chance he would make the count look ridiculous. Not even a king can retain his dignity while a stream of hot soup is trickling down his spinal column. Warburton smiled. He was mentally acting like a school-boy disappointed in love. His own keen sense of the humorous came to his rescue.