The next morning as she glanced over the columns of the Matin, the Countess exclaimed:
"Voila! Sir Paul Verdayne is at the Hôtel du Rhin. You are too young to have known him, my dear. Those sad years you were fortunately away at the Convent." And the kind-hearted old lady's eyes filled at the remembrance of Paul's sad story. "A charming man, truly. I shall send him a note at once, asking him to dine with us to-night—we need one more, and he is the very person. It is some years since I have seen him, but in London he came often to the Embassy."
The elder lady did not perceive the somewhat startled look on the face of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch.
"I shall have him take you in to dinner, my dear," she continued. "He is most charming company when he wishes to be, I assure you."
"Oh, Countess, no!" the young woman cried. "Let some one else have your wonderful Englishman. Good old Baron Lancret will amuse me sufficiently, my dear."
"Ah, but no. The dear soul has grown quite deaf since you last saw him. I can not think of allowing it. Be a good child now. This is no plot. Sir Paul is an incurable misogynist—the only man I know who would not fall in love with you. See! your old friend is doing her best to provide you with an ideal dinner-partner. What more could you wish? It is settled."
And a servant was promptly dispatched to the Hôtel du Rhin.
"Do the Count and myself the favor to dine with us this evening," Paul read when he opened the note. "You will not have forgotten your old friends of a half-dozen years ago? We shall be charmed to see you again—and I shall expect you without fail."
Well, he had no engagement for that night—and Paul sent back a polite note of acceptance. He remembered many pleasant functions that he had attended in years past at the Dalmatian Embassy in London. After all, he had to do something. He could not go about searching for the vanished lady every moment of the day and night. That much distraction, at least, he would allow himself.