Her opportunity soon came without an effort of her own, through Una's eagerness to find out the secret of her origin.
Eliot had consented to Una's wish, and immediately after the elegant supper, which had been provided by the best caterer in Boston at Sylvie's expense, he sought an opportunity to speak to her alone.
"Will Madame Leonie permit me the pleasure of showing her through our little conservatory? We have a rare plant in bloom there—a night-blooming cereus," he said.
Madame protested she would be delighted; slipped her jeweled hand through his arm, and glided from the drawing-room by his side.
The night-blooming cereus was not a feint. It was really there, but so also was Una standing by its side, pale and agitated, yet withal so lovely, that madame said to herself, with something like contempt for her companion:
"He must be cold-hearted, indeed, to withhold love from one so beautiful."
Eliot began abruptly:
"Madame Lorraine, of course you know we recognized you immediately to-night?"
The beautiful actress bowed mockingly.
"Of course."