“It shall be as you wish, Madame!” he said with courteous deference. “Pequita, the first time you dance before the King, this shall be yours!”
He put aside the jewel, and Pequita kissed his hand impulsively,—as impulsively she kissed the lips of her friend Lotys—and then came the general dispersal and break-up of the assembly.
“Tell me;” said Sergius Thord, catching Leroy’s hand in a close and friendly grasp ere bidding him farewell; “Are you in very truth in personal danger on account of serving our Cause?”
“No!” replied Leroy frankly, returning the warm pressure; “And rest assured that if I were, I would find means to elude it! I have managed to frighten Carl Pérousse, that is all—and Jost!”
“Jost!” echoed Sergius; “The Colossus of the Press? Surely it would take more than one man to frighten him!”
Leroy laughed.
“I grant you the Jewish centres of journalism are difficult to shake! But they all depend on stocks and shares!”
A touch on his arm caused him to turn round,—Paul Zouche confronted both him and Thord, with a solemn worn face, and lack-lustre eyes.
“Good-night, friends!” he said; “I have not kicked at a king with my boot, but I have with my brain!—and the effort is exhausting! I am going home to bed.”
“Where is your home?” asked Leroy suddenly.