The Motor Maid | Page 6

after some fumbling, she presented me with a visiting-card, enamelled in an old-fashioned way. I read: "Miss Paget, 34a Eaton Square. Broomlands House, Surrey."
"Now you're not to lose that," she impressed upon me. "Write if you're scattered over Europe by this Russian (I never did believe much in Princesses, excepting, of course, our own dear Royalties), or if you ever come to England. Even if it's years from now, I assure you Beau and I won't have forgotten you. As for your address--"
"I haven't any," I said. "At present I'm depending on the Princess for one. She's at the Hotel Majestic Palace, Cannes; but from what my friend Pam--the Comtesse de Nesle--says, I fancy she doesn't stop long in any town. It was the Comtesse de Nesle who got me the place. She's the only one who knows where I'm going, because--after a fashion, I'm running away to be the Princess's companion."
"Running away from the Man?"
"Yes; also from my relatives who're sure it's my duty to be his companion. So you see I can't give you their address. I've ceased to have any right to it. And now I really think I had better go back to bed."
CHAPTER II
At half-past ten this morning we parted, the best of friends, and I dropped a good-bye kiss into the deep black gorge between the promontories of Beau's velvet forehead and plush nose.
We'd had breakfast together, Miss Paget and I, to say nothing of the dog, and I felt rather cheerful. Of course I dreaded the Princess; but I always did like adventures, and it appeared to me distinctly an adventure to be a companion, even in misery. Besides, it was nice to have come away from Monsieur Charretier, and to feel that not only did he not know where I was, but that he wasn't likely to find out. Poor me! I little guessed what an adventure on a grand scale I was in for. Already this morning seems a long time ago; a year at the Convent used to seem shorter.
I drove up to the hotel in the omnibus which was at the station, and asked at the office for the Princess Boriskoff. I said that I was Mademoiselle d'Angely, and would they please send word to the Princess, because she was expecting me.
It was a young assistant manager who received me, and he gave me a very queer, startled sort of look when I said this, as if I were a suspicious person, and he didn't quite know whether it would be better to answer me or call for help.
"I haven't made a mistake, have I?" I asked, beginning to be anxious. "This is the hotel where the Princess is staying, isn't it?"
"She was staying here," the youth admitted. "But--"
"Has she _gone_?"
"Not exactly."
"She must be either here or gone."
Again he regarded me with suspicion, as if he did not agree with my statement.
"Are you a relative of the Princess?" he inquired.
"No, I'm engaged to be her companion."
"Oh! If that is all! But perhaps, in any case, it will be better to wait for the manager. He will be here presently. I do not like to take the responsibility."
"The responsibility of what?" I persisted, my heart beginning to feel like a patter of rain on a tin roof.
"Of telling you what has happened."
"If something has happened, I can't wait to hear it. I must know at once," I said, with visions of all sorts of horrid things: that the Princess had decided not to have a companion, and was going to disown me; that my cousin Madame Milvaine had somehow found out everything; that Monsieur Charretier had got on my track, and was here in advance waiting to pounce upon me.
"It is a thing which we do not want to have talked about in the hotel," the young man hesitated.
"I assure you I won't talk to any one. I don't know any one to talk to."
"It is very distressing, but the Princess Boriskoff died about four o'clock this morning, of heart failure."
"Oh!" ... I could not get out another word.
"These things are not liked in hotels, even when not contagious."
The assistant manager looked gloomily at me, as if I might be held responsible for the inconvenient event; but still I could not speak.
"Especially in the high season. It is being kept secret. That is the custom. In some days, or less, it will leak out, but not till the Princess has--been removed. You will kindly not mention it, mademoiselle. This is very bad for us."
No, I would kindly not mention it, but it was worse for me than for them. The Hotel Majestic Palace looked rich; very, very rich. It had heaps of splendid mirrors and curtains, and imitation Louis XVI. sofas, and everything that a hotel needs to make it