The more I reflected, the more complicated became the enigma.
At length one morning Simes opened my door suddenly and ushered her in. I flung down my newspaper and rose to meet her, but next instant drew back in surprise and alarm.
She was dressed in an elegant costume of pale grey trimmed with white lace and heavy embroidery of pearls, a dress which could only have been turned out by a first-class house, for it bore a Parisian chic, being modelled in latest style. Her tiny shoes and gloves were of grey suede to match the dress, and beneath her big black hat with ostrich feathers her face looked sweet and winning as a child’s.
But the flush of health had faded. Her cheeks were just as beautiful as they had ever been, but the bloom of youth had died from them, and her complexion was a yellowish brown, like that of a woman of sixty. The light in her blue eyes had faded; they were now dull and leaden.
“At last!” I cried happily. “I am so glad you’ve come, for I’ve waited so long, Aline.”
She allowed her hand to rest in mine, then sank wearily into my armchair without a word.
“You are not well,” I cried, in concern. “What ails you?”
“Nothing!” she gasped. “It is nothing. In a few minutes it will pass.” Then she added, as if on second thought, “Perhaps it was your stairs. The lift is out of order.” And she rested her head upon the back of the chair and looked up at me with pitying eyes.
All life had apparently gone out of her beautiful face. That vivacity that had attracted me had given place to a deep, thoughtful look, as though she were in momentary fear. Her face seemed blanched to the lips.
“May I get you something?” I asked. “Let me give you some brandy,” and taking the bottle from the tantalus I gave her a liqueur-glass full of cognac, which she swallowed at one gulp.