The Reverend Mr. Medlicott was nonplussed, and hurried into the front vestibule, where he made rapid inquiries of the hall-porter.

Yes—­the young lady, he believed, had walked out of the hotel not two minutes before.  Monsieur would overtake her certainly, if he hastened.  And the frantic young man rushed from the door, through the porte cochere, and so to the street, but all he saw in the far distance was a retreating large, blue automobile—­and this conveyed among all the rest of the traffic no impression whatever.

To search for Stella was hopeless; the only thing to do was to return to the Ebleys, and with them go to the Embassy.  There they could, perhaps, get advice and help how to communicate with the police.

But what an ignominious position for a Bishop’s junior chaplain to be placed in, a humiliation in every way!

CHAPTER VII

When Stella found the automobile drawing up at a strange hotel’s doors her tremors broke out afresh, until she saw the face of Ivan, who, with the porter, came forward to meet her, saying respectfully in French, would mademoiselle be pleased to mount directly to the rooms reserved for the Princess Urazov?  And soon, without anyone questioning her, she found herself being taken up in the lift, and finally ushered into a charming sitting-room full of flowers.

Here she sat down and trembled again.  The wildest excitement filled her veins.  Would Sasha never come!  She could not sit still, she walked from bouquet to bouquet of roses and carnations, sniffing the scent, and at last subsided into a big armchair, as the waiters brought in some tea.

He thought of everything for her, then—­her lover.  But oh, why did he not come!

She had finished her tea and had begun her restless pacing again, when, with a gentle tap, the door opened, and Count Roumovski appeared.

“Sasha!” she cried, and advanced toward him like a frightened child.

His usually calm blue eyes were blazing with some emotion which disturbed her greatly, she knew not why, and his voice seemed to have taken a tone of extra deepness, as he said: 

“Stella!  My little star!  And so you are really here—­and my own!”

He put his strong hands down and held on to the back of a chair, and simple as she was she knew very well that otherwise he would have taken her into his arms, which was where she was longing to be, if she had known.

“Yes, I have come,” she whispered, “I have left them all—­for you.  Oh! when will your sister be here?”

“Not until six o’clock, darling,” he answered, while his eyes melted upon her with passionate love.  “There is an hour yet to wait.  I had hoped you would not have been forced to leave your aunt’s care until then.”

“Oh!  I am delighted to have come away,” Stella answered, regaining some of her composure.  “I was shut into my room and watched by a servant.  It was awful!  But do—­you know what has happened now? since I left?  Are they tearing about after me, or what?”