By this time no guests remained about the lounge. In the doorway stood Monsieur Jacques. Paul went up to him.
"I found a handkerchief outside just now," he said, forcing a careless voice. "Perhaps the lady to whom it belongs has just come in?"
"No one has entered for a quart d'heure, Sir Paul. Hélas! It was not so in the old days. It was always gay then at this time of the night, with the band playing and all the guests chattering like mad." The maître d'hôtel breathed a gentle sigh for the halcyon days of long ago.
Momentarily baffled, to his rooms Paul turned again, and threw himself into a big armchair, where he sat wondering till in the gray light of morning the formless shadows around him took the shape of the luxurious furnishings of his suite.
What face had peered at him through the branches? In spite of the token he had found on the steps, Paul could scarcely believe that the vision had been one of flesh and blood. The handkerchief with the familiar scent?—merely an odd coincidence. But still—well, the puzzle might be worth the solving.
At last he rose, and drawing the heavy hangings close to keep out the insistent light, he lay down upon his bed, to fall into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER V
