concern in France over my daughter's marriage...." He turned his
round eyes from one to the other a moment.

"There is no Mademoiselle Delcassé."

"Sir?" said Ryder sharply.

"There is no Mademoiselle Delcassé," repeated the pasha, his eyes
frankly enlivened.

"But--we have just been speaking--you cannot mean to say--"

"We have been speaking of my daughter--the daughter of the former
Madame Delcassé."

Smilingly he looked upon them. "A pity that we did not understand
each other. But you appear to know so much--and I supposed that you
knew that, too, that the daughter of Monsieur Delcassé was dead."

Neither of the young men spoke. McLean looked politely attentive;
Ryder's face maintained that look of concentration which guarded the
fluctuations of his feelings.

"It was many years ago," the pasha murmured, putting down his coffee
cup and selecting another cigarette. "Not long after her mother's
marriage to me.... A very charming little girl--I was positively
attached to her," Tewfick added reminiscently.

"Well, well, well, what a pity now," said McLean very slowly.
"This will be a great disappointment.... And so the present