“Pardon, Madame,” the girl exclaimed in French, drawing back as soon as she saw her, “I thought you had gone out. A gentleman has just been shown to your sitting-room, and is waiting.”
“A gentleman!” Gemma repeated blankly, rising to her feet. Then she recollected. It was her lover who had come in response to her telegram. What could she tell him?
“Very well,” she answered. “I’ll see him at once;” and as the girl withdrew, she stood looking at herself despairingly in the mirror. Again she dare not tell him anything. She was still beneath a double thraldom of guilt.
With both her hands she pushed back the mass of gold-brown hair from the pale fevered brows, sighing; then, rigid and erect, walked down the corridor to her own sitting-room. Her heart beating wildly, but with a glad smile upon her face, she entered.
Instantly she halted. Her look of pleasure gave place to one of hatred. Her visitor was not Charles Armytage, but the man who, only twelve hours before, had secured her and her companions within that room with the terrible engine of death in their midst. It was Lionello Nenci, who stood with his back to the window, his hands idly in his pockets. His sallow face was that of a man haunted by terror, and driven to desperation. His cheeks were pale beneath their southern bronze, and his black eyes glittered with unnatural fire as he advanced towards her.
“You!” she gasped in withering contempt. “You! The mean despicable cur who sought to kill us!”
“Yes!” he answered unabashed. “Shut the door. I want to speak to you.”
In involuntary obedience she closed the door, and the portière fell behind her.
“I should have thought, after your infamous conduct last night, you would not ever dare to face me again,” she cried in scorn. “Such treachery is only worthy of gaol-birds and traitors.”
“You deserved it,” he laughed roughly. “You are one of the latter. It was you,” he went on mercilessly—“you, with your innocent-looking face, who gave the whole plot away, who exposed us to the Ministry, and put the English police upon us; you who sought our arrest and punishment. It is but what was to be expected of such a woman as yourself, the spy and mistress of Montelupo.”