I followed him into the house, when he ushered me to the little Moorish room overlooking the garden at the rear. Like most places of the sort, there were two entrances—front and rear.
I had not long to wait. There was a rustle in the corridor, a light step, and Léontine entered. She wore the evening gown of orange-coloured chiffon which I remembered, and for a moment the inhuman beauty of her almost took away my breath, just as it had at our first meeting. There was a warm flush on her cheeks and her eyes shone like yellow diamonds.
"Frank," she murmured, and gave me both hands.
I held them for an instant, then let them fall, and stepped back to look at her. The room was softly lighted by two tall lamps which shone through amber-coloured shades.
"So you expected me?" said I.
"Yes. I received your pneumatique; but thought it probable that you would learn that I was leaving for London to-morrow with Kharkoff."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" I asked.
"Horribly," she threw back her head and laughed. My word, but the pearls which she had stolen were no more perfect than her teeth, nor of a purer quality than her round throat. There was nothing artificial about the laugh either. It was low and gurgling and as full of real mirth as though what she had done were the funniest thing that ever happened.
"But you are the one who ought to be ashamed, Frank," said she. "I never received such a horrid pneumatique, except from Kharkoff, and he's a sav-
