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So they remained on at Paulo's, and Paulo kept the green and yellow flag of Gloria flying as if the guest beneath his roof were still a ruling potentate. But it was not the stay of the Dictator that in any way perplexed Mr. Paulo. Paulo was honestly proud of the presence of Ericson in his house.
And now I propose that we consider the whole incident as vidé, and that we go forthwith to Paulo's and have a pleasant supper there and summon up the boy Hamilton, even should he be in bed, and ask him how he came to send out telegrams for belated meetings in St. James's Park, and have a good time to repay us for our loss of an hour and the absurdity of our adventure. Come, Mrs.
A daring purchase of house property proved one stroke of success, and led to another. When he was fifty years of age Paulo was a rich man, and then he built Paulo's Hotel, and his fortune swelled yearly. He was a very happy man, for he adored his wife and he idolised his daughter, the handsome, stately, dark-eyed girl whom, for some sentimental reason, her mother had insisted upon calling Dolores.
Outside on the ample balcony stood a laurel in a big blue pot, an emblematic tribute on Paulo's part to honourable defeat which might yet turn to victory. There were books about the room: a volume of Napoleon's maxims, a French novel, a little volume of Sophocles in its original Greek. A uniform-case and a sword-case stood in a corner. A map of South America lay partially unrolled upon a chair.
Miss Paulo's door stood open, as if to convey the idea that it was an office rather than a young lady's boudoir a place of business and not a drawing-room. It was a very pretty room, as Sarrasin saw at a glance when he entered it with a grand and old-fashioned bow, such as men make no more in these degenerate days.
Natalie silently followed her, but before entering her room she once more turned, and, pressing her fingers to her lips, wafted kisses in the air toward her friend. "Good-night, Paulo!" "Good-night, Natalie!" The door closed behind her, and the smile instantly vanished from Paulo's lips.
"Recognize me by this!" said the cardinal, drawing a folded paper from his bosom and handing it to the princess. "That is Count Paulo's handwriting!" she joyfully exclaimed. "Ah, you recognize the handwriting," said the cardinal, "and you see that this letter is addressed to me. Count Paulo therefore considers me his friend!" "May I read this letter?" "I beg you to do so."
He would waken if actually called, but otherwise could sleep in spite of thunder. Now that he was in quiet civic life, it was easy enough for him to get as much unbroken sleep as he needed. The directions which his valet always gave at Paulo's Hotel were, that his Excellency was to be roused from his sleep if the house were on fire not otherwise.
On the afternoon of the morning on which Sir Rupert's card was left at Paulo's Hotel, various guests assembled for luncheon in Miss Langley's Japanese drawing-room. The guests were not numerous the luncheons at Langley House were never large parties. Eight, including the host and hostess, was the number rarely exceeded; eight, including the host and hostess, made up the number in this instance.
As if blinded by the sudden flood of light, she stood for a moment still, a purple glow flushing her delicate cheeks, and clinging to Paulo's arms, she whispered: "Protect me, Paulo, I am so frightened by this crowd!" Just at that moment the doorkeeper cried with a loud voice: "Princess Natalie Tartaroff and Count Paulo!"
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