“Mademoiselle,” whispered a voice that made the blood of a second red domino tingle, “is it all arranged?”
“Yes,” she answered under her breath.
“You won’t fail us?” whispered the other.
“No,” she replied quietly, but there was a threat in his tone that boded evil. Then this red domino slipped away in the crowd.
Meanwhile, a third red domino was peering from behind a screen of palms when she felt her arm seized and, turning, encountered the angry little mask that had been pursuing red dominos until his brain reeled.
“Mademoiselle,” he hissed, “you are cruel! Why do you avoid me so?”
“Ah, Count, can’t you wait so short a time?” and the third red domino was lost in the crowd.
The fourth red domino had been amusing herself like a wilful butterfly on a summer’s day. But it was getting late, and she paused at length to look about her. As she passed a grotto in the garden, formed by palms and orange trees, she heard the low chatter of voices speaking French. A vine-covered trellis screened her from view. One of the voices she recognized as Monsieur Duval’s. She heard him say:
“In three quarters of an hour we shall start. The maid tells me the officer is asleep. She saw to that. The young one is on the veranda with the older one, and they never retire until after midnight. We must have that paper to-night, even though we use violence.” The fourth red domino did not wait for more.
“I must find Father,” she told herself. “How shall I ever get him in time? They’re talking of the countess, and Monsieur Duval intends to go to the villa!”