"I know him--his name is
Tellier."
"I have no reason to think him an emissary," retorted Susie, curtly,
beginning to dislike the secretary. "I don't in the least believe the
Prince would choose such a one. Dad pointed him out to us in the
dining-room last night--a thing of mustachios and eyes--just the kind
one sees at the vaudeville, but which I hadn't the least idea existed in
real life.--Oh!" she cried, with a little start, "there he is now,
almost near enough to hear!"
Collins swore softly between his teeth, for there, indeed, Monsieur
Tellier was, leaning with elaborate negligence against the balustrade,
apparently intent upon the crowd below. His countenance was quite
inscrutable--calm as a summer day--which might mean much or nothing, for
he had an immense pride in keeping it always so. Vernon took him in
with a quick glance.
"I recognise the type," he said. "Can't we go on, Miss Rushford? Collins
might form a rear guard. And James is blind, deaf, and dumb toward
everything that doesn't concern him," he added, as she glanced at the
stalwart footman behind the chair. "I'm very anxious to hear the story.
But, of course, if it's asking too much--"
"It isn't," answered Susie, promptly, and fell in beside the chair,
while Collins and her sister followed at a distance of a few paces.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109