And even as he stood in the shadows near the general's car awaiting Enid he was still wondering who the pair might be.
At the fall of the curtain he had made several inquiries of the officers, but nobody could give him any information. They were complete strangers—that was all. Even a search among the cards of invitation had revealed nothing.
So Paul Le Pontois remained mystified.
Enid came at last, flushed with success and apologetic because she had kept him waiting. But he only congratulated her, and assisted her into the car. It was a big open one, therefore she wore a thick motor coat and veil as protection against the chill autumn night.
A moment later the soldier-chauffeur mounted to his seat, and slowly they moved across the great square and out by the gates, where the sentries saluted. Then, turning to the right, they were quickly tearing along the highway in the darkness.
Soon they overtook several closed carriages of the home-going visitors, and, ascending the hill, turned from the main road down into a by-road leading through a wooded valley, which was a short cut to the château.
Part of their way led through the great Forêt d'Amblonville, and though Enid's gay chatter was mostly of the play, the defects in the acting and the several amusing contretemps which had occurred behind the scenes, her companion's thoughts were constantly of that stranger whose brow was so deeply lined with care.
They expected to overtake Sir Hugh in the brougham, but so long had Enid been changing her gown that they saw nothing of the others.
Just, however, as they were within a hundred yards or so of the gates which gave entrance to the château, and were slowing down in order to swing into the drive, a man emerged from the darkness, calling upon the driver to stop, and, placing himself before the car, held up his hands.
Next instant the figure of a second individual appeared. Enid uttered a cry of alarm, but the second man, who wore a hard felt hat and dark overcoat, reassured her by saying in French: