o her face " 275

THE LOST AMBASSADOR

CHAPTER I

A RENCONTRE

There was no particular reason why, after having left the Opera House,
I should have retraced my steps and taken my place once more amongst
the throng of people who stood about in the _entresol_, exchanging
greetings and waiting for their carriages. A backward glance as I had
been about to turn into the Place de l'Opera had arrested my somewhat
hurried departure. The night was young, and where else was such a
sight to be seen? Besides, was it not amongst some such throng as this
that the end of my search might come?

I took up my place just inside, close to one of the pillars, and, with
an unlit cigarette still in my mouth, watched the flying
_chausseurs_, the medley of vehicles outside, the soft flow of
women in their white opera cloaks and jewels, who with their escorts
came streaming down the stairs and out of the great building, to enter
the waiting carriages and motor-cars drawn up in the privileged space
within the enclosure, or stretching right down into the Boulevard. I
stood there, watching them drive off one by one. I was borne a little
nearer to the door by the rush of people, and I was able, in most
cases, to hear the directions of the men as they followed their
womankind into the waiting vehicles. In nearly every case their
destination was one of the famous restaurants. Music begets hunger in
most capitals, and the cafes of Paris are never so full as after a
great night at the Opera. To-night there had been a wonderful
performance. The flow of people down the stairs seemed interminable.
Young women and old,--sleepy-looking beauties of the Southern type,
whose dark eyes seemed half closed with a languor partly passionate,
partly of pride; women of the truer French type,--brilliant, smiling,
vivacious, mostly pale, seldom good-looking, always attractive. A few
Germans, a fair sprinkling of Englishwomen, and a larger proportion
still of Americans, whose women were the best dressed of the whole
company. I was not sorry that I had returned. It was worth watching,
this endless stream of varying types.

Towards the end there came out two people who were becoming almost
familiar figures to me. The man was one of those whose nationality was
not so easily surmised. He was tall and thin, with iron-gray hair,
complexion so sallow as to be almost yellow, black moustache and
imperial, handsome in his way, dis