"Yes," she sighed at last, "I suppose we shall have to go back to humdrum London, before long. It is so much more pleasant here than in Toddington Terrace," she added in her pretty broken English. "Ah! Mademoiselle," I laughed. "One day you will marry and live in Paris, or Vienna, or Budapest." "Marry!" she echoed. "Ugh! No!" and she gave her little shoulders a shrug. "I much prefer, Prince, to remain my own mistress. I have been too much indulged--what you in English call spoil-et." "All girls say that!" I laughed. "Just as the very man who unceasingly declares his intention to remain a bachelor is the first to become enmeshed in the feminine web." "Ah! you are a pessimist, I see," she remarked, looking straight into my eyes. "No, not exactly. I suppose I shall marry some day." "And you are engaged--eh?" "No," I laughed, "it hasn't got so far as that yet. A single kiss and a few letters--that's the present stage." "And the lady is Engleesh?" "Ah! The rest must, for the present, remain a mystery, mademoiselle," I laughed, wondering what the Marquis would say if he discovered us idling away the morning like that. And so we chatted and laughed on, the best of friends. I tried to obtain some facts regarding her visit to Abbazia, but she was not communicative. Knowing that she was well aware of my visit to the Stefanie, I mentioned it casually, adding: "You must have already left before my arrival." For an instant she raised her eyes to mine with a keen look of inquiry, but, finding me in earnest, lowered her gaze again. At length I saw from my watch that we must move again, if we intended to be back to luncheon, therefore we rose and re-entering the car drove by the sea-road, back to the town. She seemed delighted with her ride. "I'll bring my aunt to call on you very soon," she said, as we parted. "I will send you a line to say the day." "Yes, do, mademoiselle, I shall be greatly charmed. _Au revoir_!" and I lifted my hat as she gave me her tiny, white-gloved hand and then turned away. Next afternoon, while in the car near the theatre, I saw her driving with a dark-bearded, well-dressed young man, whom I afterwards discovered was the Marquis. She saw me raise my hat, blushed in confusion, and gave me a slight bow of acknowledgment. That evening I made a discovery considerably increasing the puzzle. I met the mysterious Mr Wilkinson face to face in the hall of the Hotel de France, whither I had gone to pay a call upon some English friends who had just arrived. Wearing the same brown suit, he passed me by and left the hotel, for he was unacquainted with me, and therefore unaware of my presence. From the hall-porter I learnt that "Mr James Wilkinson, of London"--as he had registered in the hotel-book--had been there for the past three days.