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Updated: May 20, 2025
"Do not be afraid, Louis," I said. "I shall come to no harm. If mademoiselle looks at me, it is not gallant to look away." Louis' face was puckered up with anxiety. He saw, too, what I had seen. Bartot had walked to the other end of the room to speak to some friends.
"Miss Delora is in the little smoking-room, and Bartot is there, just arrived, I suppose, from Paris. He is terrifying her. She sent me to fetch you." I saw Louis' lips curl into something which I can only describe as a snarl. After that moment I never even partially trusted him again.
"I am very glad indeed to see you in London." She gave me her hand, and smiled her most bewitching smile. I turned and stared at Louis. He had no alternative but to fall back a pace or two. "Madame," I said, bending towards her, "it was here that Bartot came and dined. I have heard it whispered that it is not safe to eat here if you are not a friend of Louis'!"
"I dine with mademoiselle," I said, "and our appetites are identical!" Louis smiled. There were times when I suspected him of a sense of humor! "Monsieur has not the thick neck of Bartot!" he murmured, as he withdrew. It seemed to me that Felicia that night was in her most charming mood.
He did not leave. He has never been heard of since!" There was no doubt that Louis himself, at any rate, believed what he was saying. I looked away from the young lady a little reluctantly. As though she understood Louis' warning, her lips parted for a moment in a faint, contemptuous smile. She leaned over and touched the man Bartot on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
"Monsieur," she said, "do not, I beg of you, be rash. It was foolish of me, perhaps, to meet you here. We can talk for a few minutes, and afterwards, perhaps, we may meet again, but I am frightened all the time." "Monsieur Bartot?" I asked. She nodded. "He is very, very jealous," she answered. "You go with him every night to the restaurant in the Place d'Anjou?" I asked.
She lifted her arms, and I saw that they, too, were covered with bracelets of light-blue stones. Louis, following my eyes, touched me on the arm. "Don't look at her," he said warningly. "She belongs to him Bartot. It is not safe to flirt with her even at this distance." I laughed softly and sipped my wine. "Louis," I said, "it is time you got back to London.
"Monsieur may make her acquaintance some day," he remarked. "Monsieur Delora is on his way to England." "She is a safer person to admire," I remarked, "than the lady opposite?" "Much," Louis answered emphatically. "Monsieur has already," he whispered, "been a little indiscreet. The lady of the turquoises has spoken once or twice to Bartot and looked this way.
She had separated herself now from Bartot, and with an involuntary movement I came over to her side. Then the tension was suddenly broken. It was Louis who showed his teeth, but it was with the razor-edge of civility. "Monsieur Bartot is very welcome," he said, speaking in French. "Monsieur Bartot has promised so often to make this visit, and has always disappointed us."
Bartot was no match for this sort of thing. His few muttered words at first were scarcely coherent. Louis bent towards him, always with the same attitude of polite attention. "If there is anything I can do," he said softly. "Monsieur has already, without doubt, selected his rooms. It will give us great pleasure to see him in the cafe this evening."
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