But, if he knew that Harry had taken Maryska to such places as a young woman of her age (and one who was a stranger to the City) might visit, he would have been astounded and dismayed had he known that she had gone to Harry's lodgings, and latterly had made a practice of visiting him there. This was concealed by both as a secret between them of which no whisper must be heard. It was the first scene of an act of drama speedily to follow. Maryska would never forget that day. They had been to Madame Tussaud's, where a wretched group of people were sheltered from the cold, and tried to forget the shadow which lay upon the City. Returning towards five o'clock, Maryska had told him that she knew the truth about England at last, and that it was the arctic land of which her dead father had told her. "They come here in little ships," she said, "and it is to find _le Pôle Nord_. There was a café of that name in Dijon, and once when we were very poor I danced there and got money for him. He beat me when he found it out, and that night I hated him, and went back to dance once more. That is what a girl should do when a man beats her! Ah! I shall run away from you yet, _bête sauvage_." He laughed in a great boyish way, and drew her arm the tighter within his own. How good it seemed to have these bright eyes looking up into his own, to hear the little savage prattling, and to know that she was happy. Though the kingdom of England had perished that night, these two would not have cared a scudo. The eternal voice of youth called them, and they bent to it as "marigolds to the sun." "Do you think I shall beat you, Maryska? Is that in your head? You are a rum little devil, I must say!" She took it rather as a compliment. "I do not know what you will do when you are angry. The English are difficult to understand. I think they are afraid of women. Mr. Silvester runs away when I stamp my foot. I have heard him shut his door when I come down the stairs. _Bon Dieu!_ what a cat of a man--and he is a priest, and the people do not know that he is afraid of women! Shall we go to your lodgings, Harry--shall I make you some coffee there? It will be ripping,--and they would be so angry if they knew. Let us hurry on, for it is late--to your lodgings, I say." He was a good deal taken aback, and argued with her while she trotted by his side; all her strength returned, all her youth triumphant. To his rooms! That was a new proposition, to be sure. And what would Gabrielle say if she knew of it? "Look here, Maryska, people will talk if you come to my lodgings!" "Will they not talk if I stop away?" "They'll say rotten things. I shouldn't like to have them said about you." "But, Harry, do you always live alone in your rooms?" "I don't take ladies there, Maryska." She was amazed.