They passed out into the corridor, and sat there near the band. The place was deliciously warm; it glowed with soft lights, and was redolent of the odours of flowers. Superbly dressed women rustled by them; men, who had dined well, lurched past with their hands in their pockets and cigarettes in their mouths. The Hungarians played one of Lehar's waltzes—a scene of colour and of life reflecting the holy of social holies and of the almighty dollar. Presently Sir Jules Achon came out, followed by the three girls. Now, Faber recognised the third. She was Claudine d'Arny, General d'Arny's daughter.
The party was almost gone by before Gabrielle discovered him. She turned at once and held out her gloved hand.
"The wager," she said, looking at him very earnestly; "I appear to have lost."
"Well, there's nothing to pay anyway. Are you going through to the yacht?"
"Yes, to Naples. Sir Jules wishes me to see Italy and then the Adriatic."
"Full of pirates and wild men," said Eva Achon, who was by Gabrielle's side. "We shall all be carried away to a cave."
"I didn't know they had so much taste. How do you do, Sir Jules?"
Sir Jules was a little man with a wonderful head. He was sixty-four years old, but had the intellectual energy of a man of twenty. The East and the West were strangely blended in a countenance full of power and quiet dignity. A softer voice Faber had never heard.
"Very well, Mr. Faber. And you?"
"Always well—on paper. You are going through to Italy, I hear—you'll catch the Emperor, I think."