41 P.M. for Modane and
Italy. It was quite certain that I should not be allowed to go off
alone.
And suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came a complete change in the
situation. Not long after I had consumed my morning _cafe au lait_ and
rolls, the conventional _petit dejeuner_ of French custom, a letter
was brought to my bedside, where, again according to rule, I was
resting after my bath.
I expected no letters, no one except the porter of my London club knew
my present address, and the interval was too short since my telegram
to him to allow of letters reaching me in the ordinary course of the
post.
I turned over the strange missive, the address in a lady's hand quite
unknown to me, examining it closely, as one does when mystified,
guessing vainly at a solution instead of settling it by instantly
breaking the seal.
When at last I opened it my eye went first to the signature. To my
utter amazement I read the name, "Henriette Standish." It was dated
from the Hotel de Modena, Aix-les-Bains, a small private hotel quite
in the suburbs in the direction of the Grand Port, and it ran as
follows:
"DEAR COLONEL ANNESLEY:--I have only just seen in the
_Gazette des Etrangers_ that you are staying in Aix.
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