A Maker of History | Page 5

This is my last night, thank goodness."
"All right!" she answered gayly. "I must go back to my friends directly
afterwards."
"Order what you like," he begged. "I can't make these chaps understand
me."
She laughed, and called the waiter.
"And now show me what you were looking at in that paper," she
insisted.
He pointed to the two photographs.
"I saw those two together only a week ago," he said. "Want to hear
about it?"
She looked startled for a moment, and a little incredulous.
"Yes, go on!" she said.
He told her the story. She listened with an interest which surprised him.
Once or twice when he looked up he fancied that the lady from Vienna
was also doing her best to listen. When he had finished their supper had
arrived.

"I think," she said, as she helped herself to hors d'oeuvre, "that you
were very fortunate to get away."
He laughed carelessly.
"The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One
fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg, was trying to talk to me
all the time, but I saw him sneak in at Vienna, and I wasn't having any.
I say, do you come here every evening?"
"Very often," she answered. "I dance at the Comique, and then we
generally go to Maxim's to supper, and up here afterwards. I'll
introduce you to my friends afterwards, if you like, and we'll all sit
together. If you're very good I'll dance to you!"
"Delighted," he answered, "if they speak English. I'm sick of trying to
make people understand my rotten French."
She nodded.
"They speak English all right. I wish that horrid Viennese girl wouldn't
try to listen to every word we say."
He smiled.
"She wanted me to sit at her table," he remarked.
Mademoiselle Flossie looked at him warningly, and dropped her voice.
"Better be careful!" she whispered. "They say she's a spy!"
"On my track very likely," he declared with a grin.
She threw herself back in her seat and laughed.
"Conceited! Why should any one want to be on your track? Come and
see me dance at the Comique to-morrow night."
"Can't," he declared. "My sister's coming over from England."

"Stupid!"
"Oh, I'll come one night," he declared. "Order some coffee, won't
you--and what liqueurs?"
"I'll go and fetch my friends," she declared, rising. "We'll all have
coffee together."
"Who are they?" he asked.
She pointed to a little group down the room--two men and a woman.
The men were French, one middle-aged and one young, dark,
immaculate, and with the slightly bored air affected by young
Frenchmen of fashion; the woman was strikingly handsome and
magnificently dressed. They were quite the most distinguished-looking
people in the room.
"If you think they'll come," he remarked doubtfully. "Aren't we rather
comfortable as we are?"
She made her way between the tables.
"Oh, they'll come," she declared. "They're pals!"
She floated down the room with a cigarette in her mouth, very graceful
in her airy muslin skirts and large hat. Guy followed her admiringly
with his eyes. The Viennese lady suddenly tore off a corner of her
menu and scribbled something quickly. She passed it over to Guy.
"Read!" she said imperatively.
He nodded, and opened it.
"Prenez garde!" he said slowly. Then he looked at her and shook his
head. She was making signs to him to destroy her message, and he at
once did so.
"Don't understand!" he said. "Sorry!"

Mademoiselle Flossie was laughing and talking with her friends.
Presently they rose, and came across the room with her. Guy stood up
and bowed. The introductions were informal, but he felt his insular
prejudices a little shattered by the delightful ease with which these two
Frenchmen accepted the situation. Their breeding was as obvious as
their bonhomie. The table was speedily rearranged to find places for
them all.
"Your friends will take coffee with me, Mademoiselle," Guy said. "Do
be hostess, please. My attempts at French will only amuse everybody."
The elder of the two Frenchmen, whom the waiter addressed as
Monsieur le Baron, and every one else as Louis, held up his hand.
"With pleasure!" he declared, "later on. Just now it is too early. We will
celebrate l'entente cordiale. Garçon, a magnum of Pommery, un neu
frappé! I know you will forgive the liberty," he said, smiling at Guy.
"This bottle is vowed. Flossie has smiled for the first time for three
evenings."
She threw a paper fan at him, and sat down again by Guy.
"Do tell him the story you told me," she whispered in his ear. "Louis,
listen!"
Guy retold his story. Monsieur le Baron listened intently. So did the
lady who had accompanied him. Guy felt that he told it very well, but