"How is that?" she enquired with knitted brows--"regardless of what consequences?"
"Any damage one might do to the morale of your ménage by toddling about in the voluptuous déshabillé in which you behold me--my sole present apology for a wardrobe."
She found only the shadow of a smile for such frivolity. "I have sent for clothing for you," she said absently. "It should be here any minute now. We only wait for that."
"You mean you have sent to the Chatham for my things?"
"But certainly not, monsieur!" Liane Delorme lied without perceptible effort. "That would have been too injudicious. It appears you were not mistaken in thinking you were recognized as André Duchemin last night. Agents of the Préfecture have been all day watching at the Chatham, awaiting your return."
"How sad for them!" In as much as he had every reason to believe this to be outright falsehood, Lanyard didn't feel called upon to seem downcast. "But if my clothing there is unavailable, I hardly see..."
"But naturally I have commissioned a person of good judgement to outfit you from the shops. Your dress clothes--which seemed to suit you very well last night--gave us your measurements. The rest is simplicity; my orders were to get you everything you could possibly require."
"It's awfully sporting of you," Lanyard insisted. "Although it makes one feel--you know--not quite respectable. However, if you will be so gracious as to suggest that your valet de chambre return my pocketbook and passports..."
"I have them here." The woman turned over the missing articles. "But," she demanded with an interest which was undissembled if tardy in finding expression, "how are you feeling to-day?"
"Oh, quite fit, thank you."