"Why did you leave so quickly?" I asked, standing before her, and leaning against the table, as I looked into the wonderful eyes of the chic little Parisienne.
"I was compelled," was her brief response.
"You might have written to me."
"What was the use, M'sieu' Vidal? I went straight back to France. Then to Austria, Hungary, and Russia," she answered. "Only the day before yesterday I returned to London."
"From where?"
"From Algiers."
Algiers! The mention of that town recalled the fact that it was the hiding-place of the notorious Jules Jeanjean.
"Why have you been in Algiers—and in August, too?"
"Not for pleasure," she replied with a grim smile. "The place is a perfect oven just now—as you may well imagine. But I was forced to go."
"Forced against your will, Lola, eh?" I asked, bending towards her, and looking her full in the face very seriously.