the balcony of the
restaurant and ordered supper. There were people still dining at the
tables.

One party indeed sitting late over their coffee Ricardo recognised with
a kind of shock. They had taken their places, the very places in which
they now sat, before he and Hanaud and Lemerre had left the restaurant
upon their expedition of rescue. Into that short interval of time so
much that was eventful had been crowded.

Hanaud leaned across the table to Celia and said in a low voice:

"Mademoiselle, if I may suggest it, it would be as well if you put on
your gloves; otherwise they may notice your wrists."

Celia followed his advice. She ate some food and drank a glass of
champagne. A little colour returned to her cheeks.

"You are very kind to me, you and monsieur your friend," she said, with
a smile towards Ricardo. "But for you--" and her voice shook.

"Hush!" said Hanaud--"all that is over; we will not speak of it."

Celia looked out across the road on to the trees, of which the dark
foliage was brightened and made pale by the lights of the restaurant.
Out on the water some one was singing.

"It seems impossible to me," she said in a low voice, "that I am here,
in the open air, and free."

Hanaud looked at his watch.

"Mlle. Celie, it is past ten o'clock. M. Ricardo's car is waiting there
under the trees. I want you to drive back to Aix. I have taken rooms
for you at an hotel, and there will be a nurse from the hospital to
look after you."

"Thank you, monsieur," she said; "you have thought of everything. But I
shall not need a nurse."

"But you will have a nurse," said Hanaud firmly. "You feel stronger
now--yes, but when you lay your head upon your pillow, mademoiselle, it
will be a comfort to you to know that you have her within call. And in
a day or two," he added gently, "you will perhaps be able to tell us
what happened on Tuesday night at the Villa Rose?"

Celia covered her face with her hands for a few moments. Then she drew
them away and said simply:

"Yes, monsieur, I will tell you."

Hanaud bowed to her with a genuine deference.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, and in his voice there was a strong
ring of sympathy.

They went downstairs and entered Ricardo's motor car.

"I want to send a telephone message," said Hanaud, "if you will wait
here."

"No!" cried Celia decisively, and she again laid hold of his coat, with
a pretty imperiousness, as though he belonged to her.

"But I mu