" Alan Hawke was now
sternly eyeing the musician, who abruptly concluded: "I have never
met Alixe Delavigne since. I dare not return to Poland. My own
course has been steadily downward, and, beyond knowing that she
still possesses the splendid domains of Jitomir, we are strangers
to each other. Polish refugees have told me that she has always
administered the vast estate with liberal kindness to all. And now
you will tell me of her?" The tremulous hand of Wieniawski raised
a brimming glass of brandy to his lips. He stared about vacantly
when Hawke said:
"Madame Delavigne left Lausanne this evening on a special mission.
Her life is a sealed book to all, and a mere business interest has
drawn us together." The Englishman went callously on: "There are
a couple of mountainously rich American girls coming down here
to-morrow at nine o'clock to spend the day at Chillon with me. I
need a running mate. Will you then meet me at the Montreux Landing?
You can have a day off, and these young fools are fat pigeons,
ardent, and enthusiastic." Hawke saw the hesitation on the man's
face.
"You can say to Madame Frangipanni that you are with me and that
I will explain later at the dinner." With a glance at his watch,
Alan Hawke rang for the Oberkellner. He was extending his hand in
goodnight, when the refugee cried imploringly, "I must see her once
more! Tell me of her journey!" and Major Hawke deliberately lied
to the poor vaurien artist, the wreck of his better self.
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