As though he were a somnambulist, the man took the
card and slowly read the name on its face; then he looked the stranger
over from head to foot, read the name a second time, and finally entered
the palace.
The young man watched his retreating figure, and then, throwing back his
head, laughed long and heartily. After which he fell to studying the
details of the courtyard. He noted with keen interest the deep ruts worn
in the solid stone paving under the massive arches of the gateways, and
glanced up at the bas-reliefs between the windows. At the sound of
footsteps he turned and encountered Nina's maid, Celeste.
Mademoiselle had sent her to bid him mount to the _salon_. Through the
green baize doors--it was the shorter way--and then, if monsieur would
go straight on to the very last of the rooms-- His striding pace made
Celeste fairly trot along at his heels. He went through room after room.
Was there no end to them? At last Nina's slight, girlish figure was seen
silhouetted against a broad window at the end--the light at her back
hazing the gold of her hair, like a nimbus, about her face.
She ran toward him, both hands out. "Jack! Dear Jack! Is it you, really,
or am I dreaming? When did you come? Oh, I _am_ so glad to see you; but
what a surprise! Why did you not send word?"
For a moment a light leaped into Derby's eyes.
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