Then the delegates explained their mission. They had come to invite the heroine to land in the evening. The people were preparing a monster welcome for her. Immense crowds were coming in from all parts. Nothing like it had been seen in the memory of man. Monseigneur, the duke, would remain to give orders, that all might be worthy of the expected guest. The duke begged Miss Rowrer to be present with him afterward at the reception in the throne-room—and he laid his heart at her feet.
“There—just as I thought!” was Ethel’s reflection. “The duke believes it was I!”
Ethel turned to Suzanne: “Ask Mlle. Helia—or, rather, no! it’s useless to ask her; she would not come—I know her! But she will not refuse it to me as a service,” she argued within herself, “we will go together, with Helia at the head. She shall have her triumph this evening.”
Suzanne showed signs of trouble. The delegates had recognized her and bowed low. The name “Helia” struck them. It came back with the memories of their strange diplomatic soirée.
“What is the matter?” Ethel asked Suzanne, sharply. “Do you know them?”
“No—that is—yes!” answered Suzanne.
“Really, is it yes or no?”
“Where did you see them? At Paris?—at the duke’s place?”
“At the duke’s—yes—that is—no! It was one evening when Mademoiselle Helia—”