“You have just arrived, I suppose?” said Deulin.
“Oh, please don't laugh at us!” broke in Netty. “Of course you can see that. You must know that we have just come out of a sleeping-car!”
“You always look, mademoiselle, as if you had come straight from heaven,” answered Deulin, looking at Miss Cahere, whose hand was at her hair. It was pretty hair and a pretty, slim, American hand. But she did not seem to hear, for she had turned away quickly and was speaking to her uncle. Deulin accompanied them along the corridor, which is a long one, for the Hotel de l'Europe is a huge quadrangle.
“You startled me by your sudden appearance, you know,” she said, turning again to the Frenchman, which was probably intended for an explanation of her heightened color. She was one of those fortunate persons who blush easily—at the right time. “I am sure Uncle Joseph will be pleased to have you in the same hotel. Of course, we know no one in Warsaw. Have you friends here?”
“Only one,” replied Deulin—“the waiter who serves the Zakuska counter down-stairs. I knew him when he was an Austrian nobleman, travelling for his health in France. He does not recognize me now.”
“Will you stay long?”
“I did not intend to,” replied Deulin, “when I came out of my room this morning.”
“But you and Mr. Cartoner have Polish friends, have you not?” asked Netty.
“Not in Warsaw,” was the reply.
“Suppose we shall meet again,” broke in Joseph Mangles at this moment, halting on the threshold of the gorgeous apartment. He tapped the number on the door in order to draw Deulin's attention to it. “Always welcome,” he said. “Funny we should meet here. Means mischief, I suppose.”