“I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a pleasant place. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. “Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler. He raised her to a sitting position. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes.
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