'Now, look here, dear boy,' he asked of the waiter in his beaming way—Sarrasin hardly ever addressed any personage of humbler rank without some friendly and encouraging epithet, 'to whom am I indebted for these delightful morning gifts of flowers?'
'To Miss Dolores—Miss Paulo,' the man said. He was a Swiss, and spoke with a thick, Swiss accent.
'Miss Paulo—the daughter of the house?'
'Yes, sir; she arranges them herself every day.'
'Is that the tall and handsome young lady I sometimes see with Mr. Paulo in his room?'
'Yes; that is she.'
'But I want to thank her for her great kindness. Will you take a card from me, my dear fellow, and ask her if she will be good enough to see me?'
'Willingly, sir; Miss Dolores has her own room on this floor—No. 25. She is there every morning after she comes back from her early ride and until luncheon time.'
'After she comes back from her ride?'
'Yes, sir; Miss Dolores rides in the Park every morning and afternoon.'