"Le Beau has been here for some time," put in Mouquin, who was so nervous that he should have been elsewhere.
Ronsard winced. A sombre fire flickered in Haganè's eyes. "And am I to infer that the efficient police, of whom his Excellency so kindly speaks, have failed to keep in touch with Monsieur's Legation?"
The two young men crossed glances of dismay. Quickly Haganè turned his eyes to Pierre's flushed face. Each moist curl burned it like a scar. "And similarly, I suppose, I am mistaken in thinking that Monsieur Le Beau has but just arrived in great haste."
Before an answer could be found, footsteps and a timid knock made interruption. Mouquin craned his neck around to the aperture of the door, altering but slightly the position of his body.
"A servant says, Excellency, that the American minister, Mr. Todd, telephones from his Legation that he must see you immediately."
"Go, Mouquin, and stop him," said Ronsard, glibly. "Say I am out. But if he is already started wait for him at the door, and be careful to usher him into the small drawing-room, and keep him there till I come. Conciliate him. Your conversation, you understand, is to be on the high C of flippancy."
In the short interval Pierre had regained self-control. "Lord Haganè, in what way can I serve you?" He made a great effort to be nonchalant.
Haganè leaned slightly toward Ronsard. "Perhaps you have heard, Excellency, that a few moments since, Monsieur Le Beau picked up, in my humble home, quite by accident, a private letter that I had carelessly let fall."
"A private letter!" Ronsard turned with well-feigned astonishment to his subordinate. "Oh, no! Monsieur Le Beau is the soul of honor!"
Pierre could not think how to weigh the naturalness of indignation against a gentlemanly magnanimity. "The prince is mistaken," he said weakly. "It must have been another man."