There were, indeed, only a few scattered groups in the place, and most of these were obviously theatrical.  But even at that moment a man came in alone through the circular doors, and stood just inside, looking around him.  He was a man of medium height, thin, and of undistinguished appearance.  His hair was light-colored and plastered a little in front over his forehead.  His face was thin and he walked with a slight stoop.  Something about his clothes and his manner of wearing them stamped him as an American.  Tavernake glanced at his companion, wondering whether this, perhaps, might not be the person for whom she was watching.  His first glance was careless enough, then he felt his heart thump against his ribs.  A tragedy had come into the room!  The woman at his side sat as though turned to stone.  There was a look in her face as of one who sees Death.  The small patch of rouge, invisible before, was now a staring daub of color in an oasis of ashen white.  Her eyes were as hard as stones; her lips were twitching as though, indeed, she had been stricken with some disease.  No longer was he sitting with this most beautiful lady at whose coming all heads were turned in admiration.  It was as though an image of Death sat there, a frozen presentment of horror itself!

CHAPTER XXIII

ON AN ERRAND OF CHIVALRY

The seconds passed; the woman beside him showed no sign of life.  Tavernake felt a fear run cold in his blood, such as in all his days he had never known.  This, indeed, was something belonging to a world of which he knew nothing.  What was it?  Illness?  Pain?  Surprise?  There was only his instinct to tell him.  It was terror, the terror of one who looks beyond the grave.

“Mrs. Gardner!” he exclaimed.  “Elizabeth!”

The sound of his voice seemed to break the spell.  A half-choked sob came through her teeth; the struggle for composure commenced.

“I am ill,” she murmured.  “Give me my glass.  Give it to me.”

Her fingers were feeling for it but it seemed as though she dared not move her head.  He filled it with wine and placed the stem in her hand.  Even then she spilled some of it upon the tablecloth.  As she raised it to her lips, the man who stood still upon the threshold of the restaurant looked into her face.  Slowly, as though his quest were over, he came down the room.

“Go away,” she said to Tavernake.  “Go away, please.  He is coming to speak to me.  I want to be alone with him.”

Strangely enough, at that moment Tavernake saw nothing out of the common in her request.  He rose at once, without any formal leave-taking, and made his way toward the other end of the caf‚.  As he turned the corner towards the smoking-room, he glanced once behind.  The man had approached quite close to Elizabeth; he was standing before her table, they seemed to be exchanging greetings.