have dined at our house in Paris. Talk of our enormous wealth, and all that, and to-morrow invite me for a run on the car.” “Very well—Princess,” I laughed. “But what’s the new scheme—eh?” “At present nothing has been definitely settled. I expect Bindo in a few days, but he will appear to us as a stranger—a complete stranger. At present all I wish to do is to create a sensation—you understand? A foreign princess is always popular at once, and I believe my arrival is already known all over the hotel. But it is you who will help me, M’sieur Ewart. You are the wealthy Englishman who is here with his motor-car, and who is one of my intimate friends—you understand?” “Well,” I said, with some hesitation. “Don’t you think all this kind of thing very risky? Candidly, I expect before very long we shall all find ourselves under arrest.” She laughed heartily at my fears. “But, in any case, you would not suffer. You are simply Ewart, the Count’s chauffeur.” “I know. But at this moment I’m posing here as the owner of the car, and living upon part of the proceeds of that little transaction in the train between Brussels and the German frontier.” [Pg 70] [Pg 70] “Ah, mon cher! never recall the past. It is such a very bad habit. Live for the future, and let the past take care of itself. Just remain perfectly confident that you run no risk in this present affair.” “What’s your maid’s name?” “Rosalie Barlet.” “And she knows nothing?” “Absolutely nothing.” I watched the neat-waisted figure in black walking a little distance ahead of us. She was typically Parisienne, with Louis XV. shoes, and a glimpse of smart lingerie as she lifted her skirt daintily. Rather good-looking she was, too, but with a face as bony as most of the women of Paris, and a complexion slightly sallow. By this time we had arrived at the entrance to the baths, where, on the asphalte promenade, built out into the clear
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