“Who should be kind,” he replied, “if not the head of your family? But have no fear, I will deal with the Princess. I shall be able to satisfy her, I have no doubt.”
“And you”—she looked at him with appeal in her eyes—“will you be good enough to tell me who you are?”
“I am Lord Audley. To distinguish me from another of the same name, I am called Audley of Beaudelays.”
“Of Beaudelays?” she repeated. He thought her face, her whole bearing, singularly composed in view of his announcement. “Beaudelays?” she repeated thoughtfully. “I have heard the name more than once. Perhaps from my father.”
“It were odd if you had not,” he said. “It is the name of my house, and your uncle, John Audley, lives within a mile of it.”
“Oh,” she said. The name of the uncle who had ignored her appeals fell on her like a cold douche.
“I will not say more now,” Lord Audley continued. “But you shall hear from me. To—morrow I quit Paris for three or four days, but when I return have no fear. You may leave the matter in my hands in full confidence that I shall not fail—my cousin.”
He held out his hand and she laid hers in it. She looked him frankly in the face. “Thank you,” she said. “I little thought when I descended this evening that I should meet a kinsman.”
“And a friend,” he answered, holding her hand a little longer than was needful.
“And a friend,” she repeated. “But there—I must go now. I should have disappeared ten minutes ago. This is my way.” She inclined her head, and turning from him she pushed open a small door masked by a picture. She passed at once into a dark corridor, and threading its windings gained the great staircase.