“After all—why not?” he ejaculated. “Why not?”
She was holding the flask over the glass. He saw that his remark surprised her.
“Yes, Madame, thanks.”
She poured out the liqueur and handed it to him. He set it down by his coffee-cup.
“The fact is, Madame—but you know nothing about this liqueur?”
“No, nothing. What is it?”
Her curiosity was roused by his hesitation, his words, but still more by a certain gravity which had come into his face.
“Well, this liqueur comes from the Trappist monastery of El-Largani.”
“The monks’ liqueur!” she exclaimed.
And instantly she thought of Mogar.