"No, not American or English. Very black hair, dark skin."

Zahara, a student of men, became aware of a mild interest. These
swarthy visitors should prove an agreeable antidote to the
poisonous calm of Harry Grantham. She was trying with all the
strength of her strange, stifled soul not to think of Grantham,
and she was incapable of recognizing the fact that she could
think of nothing else and had thought of little else for a long
time past. Even now it was because of him that she determined to
interview the foreign visitors. The mystery of her emotions
puzzled her more than ever.

She descended to a small, barely furnished room on the ground
floor, close beside the door opening upon the street. It was
lighted by one hanging lamp. On the divan which constituted the
principal item of furniture a small man, slenderly built, was
sitting. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, so broad of brim that it
threw the whole of the upper part of his face into shadow. It
was impossible to see his eyes. Beside him rested a heavy
walking-stick.

As Zahara entered, a wonderful, gaily coloured figure, this man
did not move in the slightest, but sat, chin on breast, his
small, muscular, brown hands resting on his knees. His
companion, however, a person of more massive build, elegantly
dressed and handsome in a swarthy fashion, bowed gravely and
removed his hat. Zahara liked his eyes, which were dark and very
bold looking.

"M. Agapoulos is engaged," she said, speaking in French. "What