"Though your profession is a dishonourable one, Mr. Bourne, you have,
nevertheless, proved to me that you are at heart still a gentleman."
"I am gratified that your Imperial Highness should think so," he
replied, and bowing, withdrew, and stepped out of the hotel by the
restaurant entrance at the rear. He knew that the agent of police was
idling in the hall that led out into the Rue St. Lazare, and he had no
desire to run any further risk of detection, especially while that bag
with its precious contents remained in the shabby upstairs room in the
Rue Lafayette.
Her Highness took little Ignatia and drove in a cab along the Avenue des
Champs Elysees, almost unable to realise the amazing truth of what her
mysterious rescuer of two years ago had revealed to her. She now saw
plainly the reason he had left Treysa in secret. He was wanted by the
police, and feared that they would recognise him by the photograph sent
from the Prefecture in Paris. And now, on a second occasion, he was
serving her against his own interests, and without any thought of
reward!
With little Ignatia prattling at her side, she drove along, her mind
filled with that strange interview and the curious appointment that she
had made for that evening.
Later that day, after dining in the restaurant, she put Ignatia to bed
and sat with her till nine o'clock, when, leaving her asleep, she put on
a jacket, hat, and thick veil--the one she had worn when she escaped
from the palace--and locking the door, went out.
In the Rue St. Lazare she entered a cab and drove across the Pont des
Arts, alighting at the corner of the Rue de Seine, that long, straight
thoroughfare that leads up to the Arcade of the Luxembourg, and walked
along on the left-hand side in search of the Cafe Vachette.
At that hour the street was almost deserted, for the night was chilly,
with a boisterous wind, and the small tables outside the several
uninviting cafes and _brasseries_ were mostly deserted. Suddenly,
however, as she approached a dingy little place where four tables stood
out upon the pavement, two on either side of the doorway, a man's figure
rose, and with hat in hand, came forward to meet her.
She saw that it was Bourne, and with scarcely a word, allowed herself to
be conducted to the table where an elderly, grey-haired man had risen to
meet her.
"This is Mr. Redmayne," explained Bourne, "if I may be permitted to
present him to you."
The Princess smiled behind her veil, and extended her hand. She
recognised him in an instant as the gallant old gentleman in the bright
red cravat, who, on pretence of assisting her to alight, had made off
with her bag.
She, an Imperial Archduchess, seated herself there between the pair of
thieves.