He had referred to his watch for the fiftieth time, when, from a
closed carriage, the object of his mental vituperations gracefully
alighted at last. It was with the very coldest of bows that the
irritated man received the graceful, self-possessed woman, whose
lovely face was but partially hidden by her coquettishly dotted
veil.

"She dresses like a Parisienne, walks like an Andalu-sian, and
has all the seductiveness of a Polish countess!" the quick-witted
rascal thought, as they strolled into the museum, which the departed
General Rath knew not would be the scene of many a hidden love
intrigue, when he endowed it with a benevolent vanity. The two wary
strangers strolled along until they found a retired corner. Madame
Louison seated herself, waving her lace parasol with the impatient
gesture of one accustomed to command.

Alan Hawke was in no gentle humor, and his cheeks reddened as he
felt the calm scrutiny of the woman's searching glances. He was
now determined to take the whip hand, and to keep it. His accents
were staccato as he said, "Tell me now who you are, and what
you wish of me!" A clock, hung high over them on the dreary, drab
walls, ticked away brusquely, as the angered woman gazed steadily
into his face.

"And so your little windfall of last night has already made you
impudent? If you cannot find another tone at once, I will find
another agent! The man whom you plucked has told me the story of
your wonderful skill at cards!" The sneer cut the renegade like a
whip lash, and Alan Hawke sprang up in anger. Madame Berthe Louison
coolly settled herself down into the red cushions.