Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
plants, its atmosphere heady with the fragrance of flowers, and so into a great hallway where other servants relieved the newcomers of their wraps.
Before them a doorway arched, giving upon a ballroom, whence a flood of sound leaped out to greet them: laughter of women and the heavier voices of men; scraping of fiddles and of feet in time to the music; the swish of skirts, the blare of a French horn.
Mademoiselle had accepted the arm of the Irishman; they moved toward the ballroom, but before entering she turned toward him, speaking confidentially, yet with an assumption of lightness.
"You are to converse with me, monsieur, lightly, if you please, as though we were lifelong friends. I shall chatter—oh, positively!—and you must answer me in kind. It—it is essential, monsieur."
He bowed, attempting an easy smile, which failed utterly; for a regally attired personage at the doorway demanded the honor of announcing the late guests. And O'Rourke had not the least clew to his mademoiselle's identity! He colored, stammered, hating the servant rabidly for what he considered his cold, suspicious eye.
Yet he need not have shown confusion, had he but guessed. He managed to mouthe his name—"Colonel O'Rourke"—and the servant turned to the ballroom, raising a stentorian voice:
"Madame la Princess de Grandlieu! Monsieur—"
His own name followed, but was lost to O'Rourke in the thunder of his companion's title. And the châteaux of romance which he had been busy erecting en Espagne fell, crashing about his astounded ears.
A princess! And, if that did not place "mademoiselle"
[ 34 ]
