Two days later, I was sitting idly smoking at a little table outside the Couronne d’Or inn at Briançon, that curious little town inside the great fortress that commands the pass of Mont Genevre. The Alps were purple in the glorious sunset. The sun had long ago been hidden by the mountains behind, on whose tops the ice and snow glistened. Then, as the calm twilight came on, a pale, rosy light suffused the eastern sky, the moon rose, the aspens shook, the outlines of the valley shaded off into darkness and uncertainty, and the last glow sank into the deepening blue.
Having telegraphed to my friends, arranging to meet them at Grenoble on the morrow, I sat silent, thoughtful, and expectant.
Suddenly a musical voice behind exclaimed in English.
“The signore wears the edelweiss, I observe.”
“Yes,” I replied, turning and confronting a tall, handsome, middle-aged lady, attired in deep black. She was evidently of the upper class, and spoke English with an accent scarcely perceptible. A fact which struck me as very remarkable was that around her neck she wore a band of blood-red silk exactly the same as that upon the corpse in the brigand’s cave! What could it denote?
“I presume I am not mistaken in addressing you. I am Madame Trois Etoiles.”
“I have been expecting you,” I said.
“You have been commissioned to deliver something to me, have you not?” she asked, seating herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
“Yes. I must confess, however, that my mission is a somewhat mysterious one.” And I drew the packet from my pocket.