"I don't know just what that enraged European Government might have done to me had I been arrested, because I ran away ... and came here.... But the man whom I offended discovered where I was and never for a day even have his agents ceased to watch me, annoy me----"

There was a quick break in her voice; she set her lips in silence until the moment's emotion had pa.s.sed, then, turning to Westmore with winning dignity: "I am a dancer and singer--an entertainer of sorts, by profession. I----"

"Tell Westmore a little more, Thessa," said Barres.

"If you think it necessary."

"I'll tell him. Miss Dunois was the most celebrated entertainer in Europe when this happened. Since she came here the man she has mentioned has, somehow, managed to interfere and spoil every business arrangement which she has attempted." He looked at Thessa. "I don't know whether, if Thessalie had cared to use the name under which she was known all over Europe----"

"I didn't dare, Garry. I thought that, if some manager would only give me a chance I could make a new name for myself. But wherever I went I was dogged, and every arrangement was spoiled.... I had my jewels....

You remember some of them, Garry. I gave those away--I think I told you why. _But_ I had other jewels--unset diamonds given to my mother by Prince Haledine. Well, I sold them and invested the money.... And my income is all I have--quite a tiny income, Mr. Westmore, but enough. Only I could have done very well here, I think, if I had not been interfered with."

"Thessa," said Barres, "why not tell us both a little more? We're devoted to you."

The girl lifted her dark eyes, and unconsciously they were turned to Westmore. And in that young man's vigorous, virile personality perhaps she recognised something refreshing, subtlely compelling, for, still looking at him, she began to speak quite naturally of things which had long been locked within her lonely heart:

"I was scarcely more than a child when General Count Klingenkampf killed my father. The Grand Duke Cyril hushed it up.

"I had several thousand roubles. I had--trouble with the Grand Duke.... He annoyed me ... as some men annoy a woman.... And when I put him in his place he insulted the memory of my mother because she was a Georgian.... I slapped his face with a whip.... And then I had to run away."

She drew a quick, uneven breath, smiling at Westmore from whose intent gaze her own dark eyes never wandered.

"My father had been a French officer before he took service in Russia," she said. "I was educated in Alsace and then in England. Then my father sent for me and I returned to St. Peters--I mean Petrograd.

And because I loved dancing my father obtained permission for me to study at the Imperial school. Also, I had it in me to sing, and I had excellent instruction.

"And because I did such things in my own way, sometimes my father permitted me to entertain at the gay gatherings patronised by the Grand Duke Cyril."

She smiled in reminiscence, and her gaze became remote for a moment.

Then, coming back, she lifted her eyes once more to Westmore's:

"I ran away from Cyril and went to Constantinople, where Von-der-Goltz Pasha and others whom I had met at the Grand Duke's parties, when little more than a child, were stationed. I entertained at the German Emba.s.sy, and at the Yildiz Palace.... I was successful. And my success brought me opportunities--of the wrong kind. Do you understand?"

Westmore nodded.

"So," she continued, with a slight movement of disdain, "I didn't quite see how I was to get to Paris all alone and begin a serious career. And one evening I entertained at the German Emba.s.sy--tell me, do you know Constantinople?"

"No."

"Well, it is nothing except a vast ma.s.s of gossip and intrigue. One breakfasts on rumours, lunches on secrets, and dines on scandals. And my maid told me enough that day to make certain matters quite clear to me.

"And so I entertained at the Emba.s.sy.... Afterward it was no surprise when his Excellency whispered to me that an honest career was a.s.sured me if I chose, and that I might be honestly launched in Paris without paying the price which I would not pay.

"Later I was not surprised, either, when Ferez Bey, a friend of my father, and a man I had known since childhood, presented me to--to----" She glanced at Barres; he nodded; she concluded to name the man: "--the Count d'Eblis, a Senator of France, and owner of the newspaper called _Le Mot d'Ordre_."

After a silence she stole another glance at Barres; a smile hovered on her lips. He, also, smiled; for he, too, was thinking of that moonlit way they travelled together on a night in June so long ago.

Her glance asked:

"Is it necessary to tell Mr. Westmore this?"

He shook his head very slightly.

"Well," she went on, her eyes reverting again to Westmore, "the Count d'Eblis, it appeared, had fallen in love with me at first sight.... In the beginning he misunderstood me.... When he realised that I would endure no nonsense from any man he proved to be sufficiently infatuated with me to offer me marriage."

She shrugged:

"At that age one man resembled another to me. Marriage was a convention, a desirable business arrangement. The Count was in a position to launch me into a career. Careers begin in Paris. And I knew enough to realise that a girl has to pay in one way or another for such an opportunity. So I said that I would marry him if I came to care enough for him. Which merely meant that if he were ordinarily polite and considerate and companionable I would ultimately become his wife.

"That was the arrangement. And it caused much trouble. Because I was a--" she smiled at Barres, "--a success from the first moment. And d'Eblis immediately began to be abominably jealous and unreasonable.

Again and again he broke his promise and tried to interfere with my career. He annoyed me constantly by coming to my hotel at inopportune moments; he made silly scenes if I ventured to have any friends or if I spoke twice to the same man; he distrusted me--he and Ferez Bey, who had taken service with him. Together they humiliated me, made my life miserable by their distrust.

"I warned d'Eblis that his absurd jealousy and unkindness would not advance him in my interest. And for a while he seemed to become more reasonable. In fact, he apparently became sane again, and I had even consented to our betrothal, when, by accident, I discovered that he and Ferez were having me followed everywhere I went. And that very night was to have been a gay one--a party in honour of our betrothal--the night I discovered what he and Ferez had been doing to me.

"I was so hurt, so incensed, that--" She cast an involuntary glance at Barres; he made a slight movement of negation, and she concluded her sentence calmly: "--I quarrelled with d'Eblis.... There was a very dreadful scene. And it transpired that he had sold a preponderating interest in _Le Mot d'Ordre_ to Ferez Bey, who was operating the paper in German interests through orders directly from Berlin. And d'Eblis thought I knew this and that I meant to threaten him, perhaps blackmail him, to shield some mythical lover with whom, he declared, I had become involved, and who was betraying him to the British Amba.s.sador."

She drew a deep, long breath:

"Is it necessary for me to say that there was not a particle of truth in his hysterical accusations?--that I was utterly astounded? But my amazement became anger and then sheer terror when I learned from his own lips that he had cunningly involved me in his transactions with Ferez and with Berlin. So cunningly, so cleverly, so seriously had he managed to compromise me as a German agent that he had a ma.s.s of evidence against me sufficient to have had me court-martialled and shot had it been in time of war.

"To me the situation seemed hopeless. I never would be believed by the French Government. Horror of arrest overwhelmed me. In a panic I took my unset jewels and fled to Belgium. And then I came here."

She paused, trembling a little at the memory of it all. Then:

"The agents of d'Eblis and Ferez discovered me and have given me no peace. I do not appeal to the police because that would stir up secret agents of the French Government. But it has come now to a place where--where I don't know what to do.... And so--being afraid at last--I am here to--to ask--advice----"

She waited to control her voice, then opened her gold-mesh bag and drew from it a letter.

"Three weeks ago I received this," she said. "I ignored it. Two weeks ago, as I opened the door of my room to go out, a shot was fired at me, and I heard somebody running down stairs.... I was badly scared.

But I went out and did my shopping, and then I went to the writing room of a hotel and wrote to Garry.... Somebody watching me must have seen me write it, because an attempt was made to steal the letter. A man wearing a handkerchief over his face tried to s.n.a.t.c.h it out of the hands of Dulcie Soane. But he got only half of the letter.

"And when I got home that same evening I found that my room had been ransacked.... That was why I did not go to meet you at the Ritz; I was too upset. Besides, I was busy moving my quarters.... But it was no use. Last night I was awakened by hearing somebody working at the lock of my bedroom. And I sat up till morning with a pistol in my hand....

And--I don't think I had better live entirely alone--until it is safer. Do you, Garry?"

"I should think not!" said Westmore, turning red with anger.

"Did you wish us to see that letter?" asked Barres.

She handed it to him. It was typewritten; and he read it aloud, leisurely and very distinctly, pausing now and then to give full weight to some particularly significant and sinister sentence:

"MADEMOISELLE:

"For two years and more it has been repeatedly intimated to you that your presence in America is not desirable to certain people, except under certain conditions, which conditions you refuse to consider.

"You have impudently ignored these intimations.

"Now, you are beginning to meddle. Therefore, this warning is sent to you: _Mind your business and cease your meddling!_

"Moreover, you are invited to leave the United States at your early convenience.