“All right. Only first may I ask—who is Ilse Dumont?”
For a moment the Princess sat silent, expressionless, intent on the man whose clear, inquiring eyes still questioned her.
The Princess finally answered with a question: 293
“Did she cause you any trouble, Jim?”
“Every bit I had was due to her. Also—and here’s a paradox—I shouldn’t be here now if Ilse Dumont had not played square with me. Who is she?”
The Princess Naïa did not reply immediately. Instead, she dropped one silken knee over the other, lighted a cigarette, and sat for a few moments gazing into space. Then:
“Ilse Dumont,” she said, “is a talented and exceedingly pretty young woman who was born in Alsace of one German and one thoroughly Germanised parent.
“She played two seasons in Chicago in light opera under another name. She had much talent, an acceptable voice and she became a local favourite.”
The Princess looked at her cigarette; continued speaking as though addressing it:
“She sang at the Opéra Comique here in Paris the year before last and last year. Her rôles were minor ones. Early this spring she abruptly broke her contract with the management and went to New York.”