de rolled down.

When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles
opposite the Austrian ambassador's, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and
disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no
more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived,
he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out
or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed,
would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted
with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of
these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed
nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of
these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt.
He could not overstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to
enter a man's house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he
realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have
been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would
have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two
were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready
wit. He had thought to wait until some reasonable plan offered itself for
trial; yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable but the
fact that the craving to see her was not to be withstood. The blood began
to thunder in his ears. An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at
that moment as quite clever and feasible.

"Wait!" he called to the driver.

He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he
sought,--her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly
to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and he went about the
affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran
his head into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her
service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the
garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French
chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule.

"Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?" Courtlandt asked of the man
lounging in the forward seat.

The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he
satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The
limousine was well known in Paris, a