He was an artist; but he had been engaged by her, and was not a volunteer; and she did not as yet know that he meant to accept no return for his labours but the pleasure of presenting them to her as a love-offering.
So off he went at once towards the imposing building whither his letters had preceded him.

Owing to a press of visitors there was a moment's delay before he could be attended to at the bureau, and he turned to the large staircase that confronted him, momentarily hoping that her figure might descend.

Her skirts must indeed have brushed the carpeting of those steps scores of times.

He engaged his room, ordered his luggage to be sent for, and finally inquired for the party he sought.
'They left Nice yesterday, monsieur,' replied madame.
Was she quite sure, Somerset asked her?
Yes, she was quite sure.

Two of the hotel carriages had driven them to the station.
Did she know where they had gone to?
This and other inquiries resulted in the information that they had gone to the hotel at Monte Carlo; that how long they were going to stay there, and whether they were coming back again, was not known.