“Yes?”
“Go into the pantry and find a fruit basket and fill it with whatever food you can find. Hurry, please.”
He discovered the pantry presently, and a basket of fruit there. Poking about he contrived to disinter from various tins and ice-boxes some cold chicken and biscuits and a bottle of claret. These he wrapped hastily in a napkin which he found there, placed them in the basket of fruit, and came out into the hall just as Ilse Dumont, in the collar and cuffs and travelling coat of a servant, descended, carrying a satchel and a suitcase.
“Good business!” he whispered, delighted. “You’re all right now, Scheherazade! And for heaven’s sake, keep out of France hereafter. Do you promise?”
He had taken the satchel and bag from her and handed both, and the fruit basket, to Caron, who stood outside the door.
In the shadowy hall those two confronted each other now, probably for the last time. He took both her hands in his.
“Good-bye, Scheherazade dear,” he said, with a new seriousness in his voice which made the tone of it almost tender.
“G-good-bye––” The girl’s voice choked; she bent her head and rested her face on the hands he held clasped in his.
He felt her hot tears falling, felt the slender fingers 409 within his own tighten convulsively; felt her lips against his hand—an instant only; then she turned and slipped through the open door.
A moment later the Princess Naïa appeared on the stairs, descending lightly and swiftly, her motor coat over her arm.