Her bright eyes roved to the dainty table near at hand. She picked up a perfumed note, and read it again, and as she read, a happier look smoothed away the sharp lines of mental anguish which had marked the beautiful face but a short time before. The crested sheet bore the address of the Dalmatian Embassy in Paris, and was from the lovable old Countess Oreshefski, whose husband was the honoured Ambassador. "My dearest little Natalie," the cordial note of invitation began, and concluded with a reassurance that the Countess expected her on the ninth of May, without fail. Yes--the ninth of May--that was to-morrow. The Comtesse was insistent, and the Ambassador himself had charged his spouse to invite her. Very well! She would be there. And Mademoiselle Vseslavitch called her maid and gave her instructions to be ready to leave for Paris by the morning train. The next day the little _cafe_ across the street from the humble _Hotel de la Republique_ was the richer by a generous gold piece, and the rubicund _proprietaire_ marvelled to his equally rubicund wife over the peculiar habits of the Englishman, who preferred to drink much black coffee and smoke many black cigars sitting at the little table in the doorway, rather than see the beautiful cathedral, as did all the other tourists. Finally, Paul, impatient at his lengthy vigil, elicited the information, so much desired and yet so disappointing, that a _grande dame_, for surely she must be such to have so many servants, had honoured the humble hotel across the way by her presence for a brief twenty-four hours and only that morning had taken the train for Nice. After this bit of information, mingled with much more voluble, mine host had further occasion to remark on the strange actions of "these English." For Paul's sudden departure cut short what the landlord considered a really capable flight of oratory on his beloved cathedral. CHAPTER XI Paul did not reach Nice in a particularly pleasant mood. He knew that the task of finding the lady was much less simple than it had been at Langres. But he made a thorough search through the visitors' lists of all the hotels. His persistence, however, found no reward. He could find no trace of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch whatever. He had been in Nice two days, and his unsuccessful search began to tell upon his nerves. Realizing the need of relaxation of some sort--some diversion which might for the time being, turn his mind upon trivial things--he decided to spend an evening at Monte Carlo. Paul was no great gambler--it was a sport in which he had never taken more than a passing interest, but just then he thought it would serve his purpose. He found himself after dinner therefore in the Casino at Monte Carlo, in a room flooded with light and with many people present--a quiet room for all that, for there was little sound except the monotonous cry of _croupiers_ and the sharp rattle of a ricochetting roulette ball.