appealed to them of the delectable _patisseries_ arranged in tempting rows
along shining trays. Then, giving an order for their tea to be served
outside, they emerged once more into the sunlit street.

One of the Algerian officers followed Ann's movements with an appreciative
glance. Had she been listening she might have caught his murmured, "_V'la
une jolie anglaise, hein_?" But she was extremely unselfconscious, and took
it very much for granted that she had been blessed with russet hair which
gave back coppery gleams to the sunlight, and with a pair of changeful
hazel eyes that looked sometimes clearly golden and sometimes like the
brown, gold-flecked heart of a pansy. She was almost boyishly slender in
build, and there was a sense of swift vitality about all her movements that
reminded one of the free, untrammelled grace of a young panther.

Tony Brabazon watched her consideringly while she poured out tea.

"Montricheux has been like a confounded desert to-day," he remarked
gloomily. He was obviously feeling very much ill-used. "Tell Lady Susan
she'll drive me to take the downward path if she monopolises you like
this."

"Tony, you've not been getting into mischief?"

Ann spoke lightly, but a faint expression of anxiety flitted across her
face as she paused, the teapot poised above her cup, for his answer.

He hesitated a moment, his eyes sullen, then laughed shortly.

"How could I get into mischief--my particular kind of mischief--in
Montricheux, with the stakes at the tables limited to five measly francs?