"No, Mademoiselle," he said, "I am convinced that neither you nor
Monsieur are concealing anything about your persons. I will not trouble
you further until we have searched the room."

Maxine could not blanch, for already she was as white as she will be
when she lies in her coffin. But though her expression did not change, I
saw that the pupils of her eyes dilated. Actress that she is, she could
control her muscles; but she could not control the beating of the blood
in her brain. I felt that she was conscious of this betrayal, under the
gaze of the policeman, and she laughed to distract his attention. My
heart ached for her. I thought of a meadow-lark manoeuvering to hide the
place where her nest lies. Poor, beautiful Maxine! In spite of her
pride, her high courage, the veneer of hardness which her experience of
the world had given, she was infinitely pathetic in my eyes; and though
I had never loved her, though I did love another woman, I would have
given my life gladly at this minute if I could have saved her from the
catastrophe she dreaded.




CHAPTER V


IVOR DOES WHAT HE CAN FOR MAXINE

"How long a time do you think I had been in this room, Monsieur," she
asked, "before you--rather rudely, I must say--broke in upon my
conversation with my friend?"