"Muriel!"
It was von Klausen; but not the gay von Klausen that she had known and had come to fear. His face was drawn; his eyes grave; his manner serious.
"How did you come here?"
The question escaped her before she had time to fall back upon her weapons of defence.
"It was very simple," he answered. "I called at your hotel the morning after you departed—because I had to see you, whether you wished me or not. They said you were gone. I asked for your forwarding address, and they told me Marseilles. I came here; I searched the hotels; at your hotel the porter told me that your trunks had been carted to a villa on the Corniche. I went to the villa. The maid said that you had come here."
His explanation was long enough to give her a chance to regain her poise.
"How dared you come?" she asked.
"Wait until you have heard what I have to say," he replied.
"There is nothing you can say that will change the situation."
"Hear me first, Muriel, and you will understand."