He Does Ride; and with his Fate
She looked away at once—perhaps to ignore his eyes, which were pleading his cause far more eloquently than were his lips.
"Monsieur," she pronounced graciously, "is impetuous; but possibly that is no great fault."
"But—but, indeed, I must apologize—"
"Surely that is not necessary, monsieur; it is understood." She paused. "You were long in coming, indeed; I had grown quite weary with waiting. But since you did arrive, eventually, and in time, all is well—let us hope. As for the delay, that was the fault of Monsieur Chambret—not yours."
O'Rourke stared almost rudely, transfixed with amazement, incapable of understanding a single word. What did she mean, anyway?
"Me soul!" he whispered to himself. "Am I in Paris of to-day—of me day—or is this the Paris of Dumas and of Balzac?"
But he received no direct answer; the girl waited a moment, then, since he did not reply, proceeded, laughing lightly.
"At first, I'll confess, the sudden burst of noise in the street alarmed me, monsieur. And when you appeared at the door, I half fancied you the wrong person—perhaps a criminal fleeing from the gendarmes."
"And what reassured ye, mademoiselle?" he stammered blankly.
"The password, of course; that set all right."
"The password!" he echoed stupidly.
"Naturally; yes, monsieur!" She elevated her brows in delicate inquiry. "'To the Gare du Nord,' you cried; and by that I knew at once that you were sent by Monsieur Chambret."
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