They had as many last
words to say to each other as if Angelo were to be absent for three
days, although he was assuring her--with needless insistence--that even
if he looked into the Casino he would certainly be back long before
dinner.
The two men watched the Princess begin to mount the stairs, before they
turned away. Then, leaving the car at the door as Marie had wished, they
walked off together in the direction of the Hotel de Paris.
"Idina Bland called yesterday on Marie," Angelo said abruptly, with a
slight suggestion of constraint in his voice. "It was--rather a surprise
to me. I supposed she was in America."
"Diavolo! She is still here, then?"
"Still? Did you know she was on the Riviera?"
"I knew she came--weeks ago. She went up to Roquebrune to see the cure.
She'd heard he was an old friend of ours--and she inquired for
you--wouldn't say who she was. That was before I arrived."
"How do you know it was Idina, if she didn't give her name?"
"The cure's description. There was no mistaking it. He said at a little
distance her eyes looked white, like a statue's."
"Ah--that was good! They are like that. Curious eyes. Curious woman. Why
didn't you tell me before about her visit to the cure?"
"I meant to. But you put off coming so long. And I--well, I confess I
forgot."
"You're excusable in the circumstances, my dear boy. After all, it's of
no importance."
"No. And then, as I never saw her anywhere about, there was reason to
suppose she'd left.
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