“I know all about it, my dear girl,” Cecil silenced her disavowal. Something moved him to take her hand. She smiled sadly, not resisting. “You must excuse me,” she murmured. “I’m not myself to-night.... It’s because of the excitement.... Anyhow, I’m glad you haven’t taken any ‘loot’ this time.” “But I have,” he protested. (He was surprised to find his voice trembling.) “What?” “This.” He pressed her hand tenderly. “That?” She looked at her hand, lying in his, as though she had never seen it before. “Eve,” he whispered. * * * * * About two-thirds of the loot of the Hôtel St. James was ultimately recovered; not at Sidi Okba, but in the cellars of the Hôtel St. James itself. From first to last that robbery was a masterpiece of audacity. Its originator, the _soi-disant_ M. Sylvain, head of the Algiers detective force, is still at large. CHAPTER VI. “LO! ’TWAS A GALA NIGHT!” Paris. And not merely Paris, but Paris _en fête_, Paris decorated, Paris idle, Paris determined to enjoy itself, and succeeding brilliantly. Venetian masts of red and gold lined the gay pavements of the _grand boulevard_ and the Avenue de l’Opéra; and suspended from these in every direction, transverse and lateral, hung garlands of flowers whose petals were of coloured paper, and whose hearts were electric globes that in the evening would burst into flame. The effect of the city’s toilette reached the extreme of opulence, for no expense had been spared. Paris was welcoming monarchs, and had spent two million francs in obedience to the maxim that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well. The Grand Hotel, with its eight hundred rooms full of English and Americans, at the upper end of the Avenue de l’Opéra, looked down at the Grand Hôtel du Louvre, with its four hundred rooms full of English and Americans, at the lower end of the Avenue de l’Opéra. These two establishments had the best views in the whole city; and perhaps the finest view of all was that obtainable from a certain second floor window of the Grand Hotel, precisely at the corner of the Boulevard des Capucines and the Rue Auber. From this window one could see the boulevards in both directions, the Opéra, the Place de l’Opéra, the Avenue de l’Opéra, the Rue du Quatre Septembre, and the multitudinous life of the vivid thoroughfares--the glittering _cafés_, the dazzling shops, the painted kiosks, the lumbering omnibuses, the gliding trams, the hooting automobiles, the swift and careless cabs, the private carriages, the suicidal bicycles, the newsmen, the toy sellers, the touts, the beggars, and all the holiday crowd, sombre men and radiant women, chattering, laughing, bustling, staring, drinking, under the innumerable tricolours and garlands of paper flowers.