We were resting in a deep window seat. She drew aside the curtains for a moment. Before us stretched the black, unlit wing of the chateau. "Just that, monsieur," she whispered. "Come, we dance again. This is the waltz we both love." And after that, Madame would dance but she would not talk. So we all went back to our rooms in the Hotel de l'Univers more than a little puzzled. Things began to shape themselves on the following day, when Monsieur Huber handed me another typewritten communication. My instructions were concise but a trifle embarrassing: Cultivate Madame Sara Clèry. She is at home from five to seven. At all hazards be there on Thursday. Leave report of visit with Monsieur Huber, addressed Thomson. Rose made a little grimace as she read over my shoulder. "Perhaps," she exclaimed, with her head in the air, "you won't have so much to say about poor Mr. Kinlosti now." "This isn't of my seeking, is it?" I protested. "Nor was L'Affaire Kinlosti mine," she retorted. "There was a wonderful little Belgian Count, with moustaches half an inch long, the other night. I shall let him call upon me." "I shall leave you in Leonard's charge," I replied stiffly. "Dear old Len!" she mocked. "He won't have an earthly chance if I take it into my head to be frisky, and I'm sure I shall. It isn't natural for a girl to see no men except two ogres of guardians." "You be thankful you've got us to look after you," Leonard intervened. "From what I've seen of this city, Sodom and Gomorrah weren't in it for levity." "I can take care of myself," Rose declared, tossing her head. "Perhaps," I replied. "In the meantime, when I am away on duty--on duty, mind you--Leonard is going to play watchdog." She dropped a little curtsey to both of us. "One would think that I were a masquerading princess," she observed. "You're our princess," I answered quickly. The peevishness passed from her face in a moment. "If only you'd tell me so sometimes!" she murmured. I was at no time quite able to make up my mind how Sara Clèry really regarded my visits. On the first day, she received my present of roses and my compliments with unmistakable pleasure. On the second day, she was still amiable but a little puzzled. On the third day she received me with greater intimacy than ever before, and I was never so relieved as when the opportune arrival of one of her regular admirers--the tenor with whom she was singing--enabled me to beat a graceful retreat. On the fourth afternoon, the specially indicated Thursday, I found her in a state of agitation. It is my confident belief that on that occasion, but for my _douceur_ to her maid, which ensured my prompt entry, I should have been denied admission. She welcomed me with mingled affection--simulated--and suspicion. There was no return of her previous day's attitude. "You find me distracted," she declared presently. "A terrible tragedy has happened."