“Doucement! doucement! ma belle,” she said. “Permit me to know who honors me with a visit?”
“I wished to see Mr. Leigh. I suppose he is out. Be good enough to let me pass.”
“Are you a model, then? But no; models look not as you look.”
“I am not a model.”
“Not! fi donc! You are, perhaps, one of those young misses who write Geraldo letters of love. A la bonne heure! I wish to see one of them—moi.”
With a saucy smile Carlotta pocketed the key, turned up the gas, and commenced a cool scrutiny of her prisoner. Eugenia blushed crimson.
“Qui vous etes belle, ma chere—belle mais blonde, and Geraldo, he loves not the blonde.”
“Let me pass!” said Eugenia, stamping her foot.
Her tormentor laughed, but not ill-temperedly.
“He will soon be here,” she said mockingly. “Surely Mademoiselle will wait. He will be enchanted to see one of the young misses.”