“During our brief friendship I had, I admit, grown to admire her immensely, and were it not for the fact that a very urgent appointment called me to Roumania, I would have gladly remained. She had taken possession of my senses.
“But I took her soft hand, and wished her adieu. Then we returned into the ballroom, where I found several of my friends, and wished them farewell, for my train left at nine next morning.
“In a corner of the room stood the veteran Prime Minister, with a star in brilliants upon his dress-coat, the empty sleeve of which hung limply at his side.
”‘Au revoir, mon cher ami,’ he said grasping my hand warmly. ‘Recollect what I told you this morning—and return soon to Bulgaria again. Bon voyage!’
“Then I passed the police-guard at the door, and drove back to the Hôtel de Bulgarie.
“That night I slept but little. Before me constantly arose the childlike beautiful face of Olga Steinkoff that had so strangely bewitched me.
“I knew that I was a fool to allow myself to be attracted by a pair of big eyes, confirmed bachelor and constant traveller that I am. Yet the whole night through I seemed to see before my vision the beautiful face, pale and tearful with grief and sorry. Was it at my departure?
“Next day I set out in the car across the Shipka, and three nights later took up my quarters at that most expensive hotel, the ‘Boulevard,’ at Bucharest, the Paris of the Near East. Next day I paid several visits to diplomats I knew. Bucharest is always full of life and movement—smart uniforms and pretty women—perhaps the gayest city in all the Continent of Europe.
“On the third evening of my arrival I returned to the hotel to dress for dinner, when, on entering my sitting-room, a neat female figure in a dark travelling-dress rose from an armchair, and stood before me gazing at me in silence.
“It was Olga!