From the messenger I obtained a telegraph-form, and at once replied in the affirmative.
Just before four o'clock I entered the covered courtyard of the old Maid's Head Hotel, in Norwich, one of the most famous and popular hostelries in Norfolk. John Peston mentioned it in 1472, when its sign was The Murtel or Molde Fish, and to-day, remodelled with taste, and its ancient features jealously preserved, it is well known to every motorist who visits the capital of Norfolk, the metropolis of Eastern England.
I engaged a small private sitting-room on the first-floor, a pretty, old-fashioned apartment with bright chintzes, and a bowl of fresh roses upon the polished table in the centre. Telling the waiter I expected a lady, I stood at the window to await my visitor.
As I stood there, all-impatient, the Cathedral chimes close by told the hour of four, and shortly afterwards I heard the noise of a car turning from the street into the courtyard.
Was it Lola?
From the room in which I was I could not see either roadway or courtyard, therefore I waited, my ears strained to catch the sound of footsteps upon the stairs.
Suddenly I heard some one ascending. The handle of the door was turned, and next second I found myself face to face with the slim, fair-haired girl whose coming I had so long awaited.
She came forward smiling, her white-gloved hand outstretched, her pretty countenance slightly flushed, exclaiming in French—
"Ah! M'sieu' Vidal! After all this time!"
"It is not my fault, Mademoiselle, that we are such strangers," I replied with a smile, bowing over her hand as the waiter closed the door.