As if he felt that glance upon him, Jack Awdas looked up and put a hand to his cap; a smile rippling all over his face. Olwen would not have read the purpose behind the smile. CHAPTER XII MOONLIGHT AND THE CHARM "O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest thy love prove likewise variable." Shakespeare. Now let us take the roof off, as is done in fairy stories about other charms. Let us steal a peep, that is, inside various rooms of that hotel, where this story is laid. In the basement, first of all, let us cast a glance at the _appartement_ that had echoed to the feasting of that luncheon party, and had been later the scene of a sedate and ultra-English tea. Nobody there now, except the hotel manageress and her husband. Monsieur Leroux with that black domino beard of his, is dozing in the most capacious chair; Madame is poring over her accounts. Every now and then her eye lights up with a spark from the smouldering fire of pride within her; for who but she has such a right of feeling proud at the end of that day of meals and acclamations (and washing-up?). She thinks of her nephew Gustave's brilliant _partie_, and of the bedazzling of all her friends, most especially of the notary's wife, here in this very room. The little close room seems to her once more a-glitter with the glass and the silver and the display.... Only the prune-coloured velvet curtains are tightly drawn before the pots of imitation cyclamen, and there enters no gleam of the light that is bathing the forest and the sea without--light of the waning moon, melting and cool at once, at once disdainful and seductive. Upstairs in the _salle à manger_ the engaged couple have been dining as guests of the guests. Mrs. Cartwright and the Professor had suggested this, and their proposal was cordially received. The health of the _fiancés_ had been drunk, and the old French gentleman with the red button-hole has added the toast to the next betrothed from that party there present tonight. And now Gustave Tronchet and his bride-elect are still moving from group to group in the _salon_, and the diffident, old-maidish Englishwoman is transfigured. It astonishes her to think that she could ever have felt that violent shyness so early in the day. She has forgotten how her knees trembled as she faced that perfect zoo of foreigners, all beards and bosoms, come to inspect Mees Ouallshe.