are-looking restaurant and several other rooms opened
out. On a gigantic hatrack like a withered tree hung coats and hats in
dark bunches, brightened with a few military coats and gold-braided
caps. As Max and Sanda appeared, an officer--youngish, dark,
sharp-featured, with a small waxed moustache and near-sighted black
eyes--turned hastily away from a window, and with a stride added his cap
and cloak to the hatrack's burden. He had an almost childishly guilty
air of not wishing to be caught at something. And what that something
was, Max Doran guessed with a queer constriction of the throat as he
looked through the window. This opened into a dim room, which was
labelled "Bureau," and framed the head and bust of a young woman.

Such light as there was in the hall fell full upon her short, white
face, into her slanting yellow eyes and on to the elaborately dressed
red hair. She had been smiling at the officer, but on the interruption
of the strangers' entrance she frowned with annoyance. It was the frank,
animal annoyance of a beautiful young lynx, teased by having a piece of
meat snatched away. The eyes were clear in colour as a dark topaz, and
full of topaz light. This was remarkable; but their real strangeness lay
in expression. They seemed not unintelligent, but devoid of all human
experience. They gazed at the newcomers from the little window of the
bureau, as an animal gazes from the bars of its cage, looking at the
eyes which regard it, not into them; near yet remote; a creature of
another species.

The girl appeared to be well-shaped enough, though her strong white
throat was short, and the hands which lay on the wide window ledge were
as small as a child's. Yet like a shadow thrown on the wall behind her
was a lurking impression of deformity of body and mind, a spirit cast
out of her, to point at something veiled. If there could have lingered
in the mind of Max a grain of doubt concerning Rose Doran's confession,
it was burnt up in a moment; for the girl was an Aubrey Beardsley
caricature of Rose. No need to ask if this were Mademoiselle Delatour.
He knew. And this lieutenant in the uniform of the Spahis was the
"namesake" of whom the men had talked in the train.

CHAPTER X

THE VOICE OF THE LEGION

It was all far worse even than Max had expected; and the next few days
were a nightmare. The resemblance between the girl and her mother--once
his mother, whom he had as a boy adored--made the effect more