When he awoke it was almost noon, and too late to catch the Paris
train. Fate again! And yet there arose no feeling of rebellion in Sir
Paul. If he were in the hands of a great will, let that same will
direct. There would be another train in the evening, but Paul would
have none of it. His mood had changed. He could not leave the place
quite yet. So he dressed leisurely; and it was not till mid-afternoon
that his flannel-clad figure appeared upon the lawn. He had no energy
for a walk or row, and spent the time till dinner reading and smoking.
That night he did not wish to dine alone. The approach of darkness,
with its eerie suggestion of his strange experience of the night
before, made him crave the society of his kind. As he passed through
the lounge, carefully groomed as ever, his friend Barclay called to
him.
"I say, Verdayne! Join us to-night, won't you, old chap? We will be
dining early."
The cheery English voice was what Paul needed, and though he had all
the week avoided the party--there were three men--now he gladly
greeted them. Barclay, totally unable to account for Paul's sudden
recension from his aloofness, nevertheless secretly rejoiced. He
greatly admired Verdayne, and had felt rather hurt at his keeping
quite so much to himself. With a wisdom beyond his usual capabilities,
however, he refrained from making any comment and only showed the
pleasant eagerness of a cordial host.
They were the first to enter the restaurant, and as they sat there
with talk of familiar things in Paul's ears he began to feel himself
again.
After dinner Paul played billiards, and then took a hand at bridge,
and when at length the game broke up he was sure of himself; the
amusement of the evening had been sane enough to convince Paul that
there would be no visions for him that night. He took a few turns back
and forth before the hotel, and then, rounding a corner of one of the
wings, he came upon a little rustic tea-house hidden away among a
wealth of shrubbery and young trees.
A fancy to explore it seized him, and he followed the path that led
toward it. The heavy vines clustering completely over the structure
made the interior of an inky blackness. Paul halted on the threshold
and struck a match. At first, as the phosphorus flared, the darkness
beyond seemed intensified. Then, as the flame subsided, Paul saw--the
face again, looking straight into his--the same beautiful face, it
seemed, that had gazed at him on that memorable night years before,
the same red lips, the same wonderful eyes.
The blazing match fell from his fingers, and in another moment he
clasped a warm and clinging figure in his arms. Without a word their
lips met in one long kiss. To Paul it was as if he had been
transported to some distant sphere, and in some mystic fashion
transcending time and space, he held his lady in his arms again.
But it was no dream; that kiss was a reality.
* * * * *
A low cry suddenly broke the silence--a quick exclamation of alarm. It
was a language Paul remembered well, for his Queen had often talked to
him caressingly in her own strange tongue. He started and turned his
head, to see a tongue of flame leaping shoulder-high behind him. The
match had fallen on some inflammable drapery and set the place afire.
He seized a rug and tried to smother the blaze, but the little house
was a tinder box.
The lady had not moved meanwhile. But as the sound of running feet and
a loud call of "_Au feu! Au feu!_" shattered the quiet, she sprang
like a frightened fawn out into the darkness. An instant later,
blinded by the glare of the conflagration, Paul followed. He was too
late. The darkness had swallowed her completely, and with the blaze
still dazzling his eyes Paul could scarcely see even the hurrying
forms that came racing up the path.
In a few moments the tea-house was a ruin. Paul hurried to the hotel,
where several startled guests had gathered in somewhat scanty attire,
alarmed by the cry of fire ringing out into the still night. But the
lady of the midnight kiss was not there.