"Fritz, Fritz; where are you?"

And a moment later she came out, followed by her mother ... and the little

lady of the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It was impossible to tell.

She simply stooped and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly

to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted his hat. It was in nowise offered as

an act of recognition; it was merely the mechanical courtesy that a man

generally pays to any woman in whose path he chances to be for the breath

of a second. The three women in immaculate white, hatless, but with

sunshades, passed on down the street.

Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of

paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor

offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment.

Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out.

"Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen."

"Ah, yes." Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly

difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen

Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had

recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he

went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the

world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was damnable

of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the

quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly

she had waylaid and trapped him!

"Those are from Lucerne, sir."

"What?" bewildered.

"Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir."

"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open.

He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in

the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely.

He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that

he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the

enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless

supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but

seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over.

"Nora, who was that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.

"Who was who?" countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her

arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.

"That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we passed out. He

raised his hat."

"Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz."

Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a

quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.

"She did not see him!" thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew

her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have

seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact.




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