They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. E. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. Michelle’s eyes opened, her body paralyzed. ’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. "It was silly. If so I shall have to leave. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. .
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