“I don’t think it is Ivor,” Lisa went on.  “He’s hidden himself in the shadow, as if he were watching.  It’s that house he’s interested in.  Who can he be, if not Ivor?  A detective, perhaps.”

“Why should a detective watch Mademoiselle de Renzie’s house?” I asked, in spite of myself.

Lisa seemed a little confused, as if she had said something she regretted.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she answered hastily.  “Why, indeed?  It was just a thought.  The man seems so anxious not to be seen.  Oh—­keep back, Di, don’t look out for an instant, till he’s passed.  Ivor is coming now.  He’s walking in a great hurry.  There! he can’t see you.  He’s far enough away for you to peep, and see for yourself.  He’s at Maxine de Renzie’s gate.”

It was all over, then, and no more hope.  His eyes when they gave me that tragic look had lied, even as his lips had lied last night, when he told me there was no other woman in his world but me.

“I won’t look,” I stammered, almost choking.

“Someone, I can’t see who, is letting him in.  The gate’s shut behind him.”

“Let us go now,” I begged.

“No, no, not yet!” cried Lisa.  “I must know what happens next.  We are in the midst of it, indeed.”

I hardly cared what she did, now.  Ivor had come to see Maxine de Renzie, and nothing else mattered very much.  I had no strength to insist that we should go.

“I wonder what the man in the shadow would do if he saw us?” Lisa said.  Then she leaned out, on the side away from the hiding man, and softly told our chauffeur to go very slowly along the street.  This he did, but the man did not move.

“Stop before that house behind the wall with the creepers,” directed Lisa, but I would not allow that.

“No, he shall not stop there!” I exclaimed.  “Lisa, I forbid it.  You’ve had your way in everything so far.  I won’t let you have it in this.”

“Very well, we’ll turn the corner into the next street, to please you,” said Lisa; and she gave orders to the chauffeur again.  “Now stop,” she cried, when we had gone half way down the street, out of sight and hearing of anyone in the Rue d’Hollande.  Then, in another instant, before I had any idea what she meant to do, she was out of the cab, running like a child in the direction whence we had come.  I looked after her, hesitating whether or not to follow (for I could not bear to risk meeting Ivor), and saw that she paused at the corner.  She was peeping into the Rue d’Hollande, to find out what was happening there.

“She will come back in a moment or two,” I said to myself wearily, and sat waiting.  For a little while she stood with her long dress gathered up under her cloak:  then she darted round the corner and vanished.  If she had not appeared again almost at once, I should have had to tell the driver to follow, though I hated the thought of going again into the street where Maxine de Renzie lived.  But she did come, and in her hand was a pretty little brocade bag embroidered with gold or silver that sparkled even in the faint light.