beckoned me with an irresistible gesture to come quite close to him.

I smiled encouragingly and obeyed.

"My kind friend," he murmured, "I know not your name."

His English was not the English of an Englishman, but it was beautiful
in its exotic quaintness.

"My name is Carl Foster," I said. "It will be better for you not to
talk."

He made another gesture of protest with that wonderful left hand of
his.

"Monsieur Foster, I must talk to Mademoiselle Rosa."

"Impossible," I replied. "It really is essential that you should keep
quiet."

"Kind friend, grant me this wish. When I have seen her I shall be
better. It will do me much good."

There was such a desire in his eyes, such a persuasive plaintiveness
in his voice, that, against my judgment, I yielded.

"Very well," I said. "But I am afraid I can only let you see her for
five minutes."

The hand waved compliance, and I told the valet to go and inquire for