“CHAUVELIN,” she said at last desperately, “I must know what has happened.”
“What has happened, dear lady?” he said, with affected surprise. “Where? When?”
“You are torturing me, Chauvelin. I have helped you to-night … surely I have the right to know. What happened in the dining-room at one o’clock just now?”
She spoke in a whisper, trusting that in the general hubbub of the crowd her words would remain unheeded by all, save the man at her side.
“Quiet and peace reigned supreme, fair lady; at that hour I was asleep in one corner of one sofa and Sir Percy Blakeney in another.”
“Nobody came into the room at all?”
“Nobody.”
“Then we have failed, you and I?”
“Yes! we have failed — perhaps …”
“But Armand?” she pleaded.
“Ah! Armand St. Just’s chances hang on a thread … pray heaven, dear lady, that that thread may not snap.”
abridged