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Updated: May 24, 2025
For his 'vis-a-vis' he had his lively friend Fanny Dorville, star of the Palais Royal, while at his right sat Heloise Virot, the "first old woman," or duenna, of the same theatre, whose well known jests and eccentricities added their own piquancy to gay life in Paris.
"Yes, I think Polly in a Virot hat, Picot embroidered frock and three-inch heels would take more moths than any one who ever tried the Limberlost," laughed Philip. "Well, you find many of them, and you are her brother." "Yes, but that is different. Father was reared in Onabasha, and he loved the country. He trained me his way and mother took charge of Polly. I don't quite understand it.
Virot smiled in appreciation of the compliment, and at once started down the hall as fast as his short legs could carry him. The rascal was always careful of his precious skin. Paul turned the handle of the door, only to find, as he had expected, that the key on the inner side had been turned and he groaned within himself.
And Paul described to his lady the villainous Michael with the red hands, and Virot, the oily Frenchman. And as he told of Mademoiselle Ivanovitch, the red-haired woman, the lady's lip curled scornfully. "A tissue of lies!" she cried. "Those men are the scum of Europe, blackguards of the worst type the kind Boris has always gathered round him from his boyhood. And the woman bah! he has no sister.
And then, in a flash, he recalled the name "Boris" which Mademoiselle Vseslavitch had spoken; at that moment, too, Paul placed the personality of the Frenchman Virot. He and the fat man of Lucerne were one. Boris's eyes left those of Paul and studied the panel behind the baronet's head.
One wanton villain it was the French gutter-snipe, Virot paused a moment to ride up to a window of the hall and discharge his revolver through the glass. Fortunately his aim was as evil as his intent. Beyond shattering a priceless vase, the bullet did no damage.
Now there was no longer any doubt as to where the cries came from. Paul dashed at the door, only to find it locked. In a second he had his shoulder against the panel, and the door went in with a crash, disclosing a small anteroom, formed by the end of the hall-way. And then Paul saw before him another door, before which stood the fat Frenchman, Virot, with a shining knife in his hand.
Here, Miss Haines it'll be ready right off.... That was one of the Trenor girls here yesterday with Mrs. George Dorset. How'd I know? Why, Madam sent for me to alter the flower in that Virot hat the blue tulle: she's tall and slight, with her hair fuzzed out a good deal like Mamie Leach, on'y thinner...."
He stood still, with his hand on the panel of the door, and gave a short, quick gasp which caused Paul to look at him sharply. That form struck Paul as strangely familiar. The fat man closed the door behind him gently, and came into the centre of the room. "Mr. Aldringham," said Ivanovitch, "allow me to present Monsieur Virot, who acts as manager of our estates."
We had to have our costumes distinct in some way." "A remarkable hat, that," nodded Mrs. Lot, her eye catching sight of a Virot creation at the top of the page. "Reminds me of Eve's description of an autumn scene in the garden," smiled Mrs. Noah.
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