nd why those people at the Cafe
des Deux Epingles should shield you when you are not one of
them,--when you have no knowledge of any of them save the very
slightest. They are not philanthropists, those people. Some day or
other you will have to pay the price!"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I have never refused to pay my just debts," I said. "If any one of
them comes to me with a definite request which I can grant, you may be
very sure that I shall grant it."

"You are not already their servant, then?" she asked. "You are sure,
quite sure of that?"

"In what way?" I asked.

"You look honest," she said. "Perhaps you are. Perhaps I have doubted
you without a cause. But I will ask you this question. Has it been
suggested to you by any of them that you should watch us--my uncle and
me?"

"On my honor, no!" I answered earnestly.

She was evidently puzzled. Little by little the animosity seemed to
have died away from her face. She looked at the sleeping man
thoughtfully, and then once more at me.

"Tell me," she said,--"do not think, please, that I am inquisitive,
but I should like to believe that you are not one of those whom we
need fear,--is Louis indeed an ordinary acquaintance of yours?"

"He is scarcely that," I answered. "He is simply the _maitre
d'hotel_ at a restaurant I frequent. I had never in my life seen
him before, except in his restaurant. When he spoke to me at the Opera
I did not for some time recognize him."

She appeared to be convinced, but still a little bewildered. She was
silent.

"Don't you think," I said, after a short pause, "that it is almost my
turn now to ask a few questions?"

She seemed surprised.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Tell me, you are not English," I said, "and you are not French. Yet
you speak English so well."

She smiled.

"My father was a Frenchman and my mother a Spaniard," she answered. "I
was born in South America, but I came to Europe when very young, and
have lived in France always. My people"--she looked towards the
sleeping man as though to include him--"are all coffee planters."

"You are going to stay long in London?" I asked.

"My uncle sells his year's crops there," she answered. "When he has
finished his business we move on."

"Will you tell me, then," I asked, "why you, too, were at the Cafe des
Deux Epingles? You admit that it is the resort of people of mysterious
habits. What place had you there?"

She looked away from me for a moment. My question