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Updated: June 13, 2025
Peter entered and closed the door behind him. The commissionaire remained outside. Mademoiselle Celaire turned to greet her visitor. "It is a few words I desire with you as quickly as possible, if you please, Monsieur le Baron," she said, advancing towards him. "Listen." She had brushed out her hair and it hung from her head straight and a little stiff, almost like the hair of an Indian woman.
"That helps," he murmured. "See, our last guest arrives. Ah!" A tall, spare-looking man was just being announced. They heard his name as Andrea presented him to a companion: "Colonel Mayson!" Mademoiselle Celaire saw a gleam in her companion's eyes. "It is coming the idea?" she whispered. "Very vaguely," he admitted. "Who is this Colonel Mayson?" "Our only military aeronaut," Peter replied.
He leaned a little towards her. She was looking intently at a ring upon her finger. "If you would really like to see me," she whispered, "and if you are sure that Mademoiselle Celaire would not object, could you not ask me to tea to-morrow or the next day?" "To-morrow," Peter insisted, with a becoming show of eagerness. "Shall we say at the Canton at five?" She hesitated.
Without any change of countenance, however, he held out his hand. "Dear Andrea," Mademoiselle Celaire exclaimed, "you permit me that I present to you my dear friend, well known in Paris alas! many years ago Monsieur le Baron de Grost. Monsieur le Baron was kind enough to pay his respects to me this evening, and I have induced him to become my escort here."
"That helps," he murmured. "See, our last guest arrives." A tall, spare-looking man was just being announced. They heard his name as Andrea presented him to a companion "Colonel Mayson!" Mademoiselle Celaire saw a gleam in her companion's eyes. "It is coming the idea?" she whispered. "Very vaguely," he admitted. "Who is this Colonel Mayson?" "Our only military aeronaut," Peter replied.
One or two of the loungers gave vent to a groan of envy at the sight of the diamonds which blazed from her neck and bosom. Peter smiled as he gave the address to his servant, and took his place by the side of his companion. "They see only the externals, this mob," he remarked. "They picture to themselves, perhaps, a little supper for two. Alas!" Mademoiselle Celaire laughed at him softly.
"It depends upon that only." He strolled across the room and rejoined Mademoiselle Celaire a few moments later. They stood apart in a corner. "I should like my supper," Peter declared. "They wait for one more guest," Mademoiselle Celaire announced. "One more guest! Do you know who it is?" "No idea," she answered. "One would imagine that it was some one of importance.
What emerged was a good deal like the shy Maurice Korust, who accompanied his brother at the music hall, but whose distaste for these gatherings had been Andrea's continual lament. The Baron de Grost stepped back once more against the wall. His host was certainly looking dangerous. Mademoiselle Celaire was leaning forward, staring through the gloom with distended eyes.
Punctually at the time stated he was outside the stage door of the music-hall, and a few minutes later Mademoiselle Celaire appeared, a dazzling vision of fur and smiles and jewelry imperfectly concealed. A small crowd pressed around to see the famous Frenchwoman. Peter handed her gravely across the pavement into his waiting car.
"They have taken the furnished house belonging to one of your dukes, in Hamilton Place, for which we are bound; taken it, too, at a fabulous rent," Mademoiselle Celaire continued. "They have installed there a chef and a whole retinue of servants. They were here for seven nights; they have issued invitations for seven supper parties." "Hospitable young men they seem to be," Peter murmured.
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