“Back early, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Madame has had bad news,” said Monmouth and looked at her anxiously. She sank into a big chair before the open fire. Certainly she was very beautiful. Looking at her it seemed incredible that she could be one of the best known adventuresses in the world. Perhaps, after all, much of the anecdote that was built about her was legendary. Presently she spoke in French to Monmouth.
“Bear with me, my dear one,” she said, “but I must see him alone. I am a creature of premonitions. Let me have my way.”
The look that Captain Monmouth bent upon Anthony Trent was not a friendly one. There was a new quality of suspicion and antagonism in it.
“Madame de Beaulieu,” he said stiffly, “wants to speak with you alone. I see no occasion for it but her wish is law. I shall leave you here.”
When they were alone she did not speak for some minutes. Then she turned to him and looked at him searchingly. He felt the necessity of being on his guard.
“Mr. Lindholm,” she said quietly, “I do not understand you.”
“Why should you bother to?” he asked.
“Because I am afraid of everything I do not trust. You say you are a naturalized Swede. That would explain your hair.” She leaned forward and looked him full in the face, “Mr. Lindholm, you have made one very silly mistake which no woman would make.”
“And that is—what?” he demanded.