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"This is Julien Portel," he answered. "Who is it speaking?" "I am Henriette Christophor," the voice replied. "I had word from England, Sir Julien Portel, that you were coming to see me." "I shall do myself that honor," Julien assured her, "before I leave Paris." "You were not polite," the voice continued, "that you did not come this afternoon."
He has the ear of the Prime Minister and he hates me. My only chance is his retirement." Mrs. Carraby looked at the letter. "Well," she said, "I have played your game for you. I have gone even to the extent of being talked about with Julien Portel." Her husband moved uneasily in his chair. "That will all blow over directly," he declared.
"Yes, but I thought that that sort of thing was at an end. I thought that when you were a Cabinet Minister no one would dare to treat me as though I were a social nobody." "You must remember that the Duchess has a special reason," he reminded her. "I suppose it's that Portel affair." "Yes," Mrs. Carraby agreed, "it is the Portel affair." They were both silent.
I might have guessed that. Are you a friend of Sir Julien Portel?" "I think I may call myself a friend," Kendricks admitted. "We were at college together." She rose composedly to her feet. "Then I will take my coffee at your table," she decided. "You may present me. I am Mademoiselle Senn." Kendricks hesitated. "You may not find my friend in the most amiable of moods," he began.
Madame Christophor sat with her eyes fixed upon the wall. Then she began to laugh once more in the same strange manner. Falkenberg was curious. "You find my intentions amusing?" he asked. "I find the situation amusing," she replied. "Half an hour ago I offered Sir Julien Portel what is left of my life." Falkenberg stood perfectly still, watching her closely.
I, too, believe that. You consent?" "Tell me exactly what it is that you require?" she demanded. "Take me to Portel," he answered swiftly. "Inform him that you cannot any longer permit him the shelter of your roof." She sat down and began to laugh, softly but in unnatural fashion. Falkenberg watched her with grim curiosity. "And then?" she inquired. He hesitated.
The paper which he read was dated on the preceding day. Before him was a fourth article, dated from Paris, dated less than forty-eight hours ago, signed "Julien Portel." The title of the article was "The World's Great Mischief-Maker!"
And then, in the midst of our dinner, his employer has sent for him. He has to go on a journey. It is sad, is it not? He would like me to go with him to the station, to see him off, but I " she shrugged her shoulders. "Why should I leave before I have finished my dinner? In truth, he wearies me, that young man. I do not think, Sir Julien Portel, that Englishmen are very clever."
But they all showed a rather remarkable aptitude for delineation which further fortified Bowen's comparisons between these people and the extinct Cro-Magnons whose ancient art is still preserved in the caverns of Niaux and Le Portel. The Band-lu, however, did not have the bow and arrow, and in this respect they differ from their extinct progenitors, or descendants, of Western Europe.
Falkenberg was silent for a moment. His face had grown dark. "And ours," he muttered, "was a third-rate gunboat! Who in all Downing Street could have planned a coup like this?" "It was Sir Julien Portel his last official action," the Baron answered. "The papers to-morrow will be full of this. The Press of Germany and England and France have the whole story."
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