“Stop!” she said.  “Wait a moment!  Let me think!”

She had risen to her feet.  We stood looking at one another across the table.  Between us was the telephone instrument and the bell which had just rung out its summons.

“Are you not going to answer it?” I asked.

“I am afraid!” she answered.  “I do not know what has come over me.  I am afraid!  Take up the receiver.  Tell me who it is who speaks.”

“You are sure that you wish it?” I asked.

“At once!” she insisted.  “They will have gone away.”

The bell rang again.  I took the receiver into my hands.

“Who is there?” I asked.

“Is that the apartment of Mr. Delora?” was the reply.

“Yes!” I said.

“I wish to speak to Miss Felicia Delora,” the voice said.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“It does not matter,” was the answer.  “Be so good as to tell her to come to the telephone—­Miss Felicia Delora.”

I held the receiver away from me and turned to her.

“Some one wishes to speak to you,” I said.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“The person gave no name,” I answered.

“Did you recognize the voice?” she asked.

I hesitated.

“I was not sure,” I said.  “It was like your uncle’s.”

She took the instrument into her hand.  What passed between her and the person at the other end I had, of course, no means of telling.  All I know was that she said, at short intervals,—­“Yes!  No!  Yes!  I promise!” Then she laid the instrument down and looked at me.

“The mystery is solved,” she said.  “My uncle has met some friends, and stayed with them for a little time to discuss a matter of business.  I am sorry to have been so troublesome to you.  My anxieties, of course, are at an end now.”

I bowed, and moved toward the door.

“If there is anything else that I can do—­” I said.

“I shall ask you,” she answered, looking at me earnestly.  “I shall, indeed.”

“My number is 128,” I said.  “I am two floors above you.  Please do not forget to make use of me if you need a friend.”

“I shall not forget,” she answered softly.

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, she held out her hand,—­a small white hand with rather long fingers, manicured to a perfection unusual in this country.  She wore only one ring, in which was set a magnificent uncut emerald.  I held her fingers for a moment, and raised them to my lips.

“I shall be always at your service,” I answered quietly, “however much—­or however little you may care to tell me.  Goodnight!”

I went to my rooms and washed.  Afterwards I descended and ordered some supper in the cafe.

“Louis is not back yet?” I remarked to the waiter who attended to me.

“Not yet, monsieur,” the man answered.  “We expect him some time to-morrow.  Monsieur is also from Paris?”