Mme. Momoro had shown herself a dramatic artist in the moving presentation of partial truths.
Ogle did not press the boy to say anything more; he was sorry for him, in truth; and as for obtaining further enlightenment he was sufficiently sickened by what he had. It was enough: he could piece out the details from his dramatist's imagination, if he cared to; but he had no wish to engage himself in that occupation at present. Then Hyacinthe added something that startled him. "They are here, you know," the boy said quietly.
"Who are here?"
"Mademoiselle Daurel and Mademoiselle Lucie. They are at another hotel. They guessed that we would come to Biskra. The concierge gave my mother a note from them when we arrive this afternoon before she went to her room. They insist to see her at once."
Ogle stared at him. "Then that's where she's gone to-night."
Hyacinthe gave him a piteous look, wholly genuine. "If she is not in her room, it might be. I am afraid so." He swallowed painfully, and there was no doubt of his despair. "If she promise them for us to go back with them" He rose abruptly as if he
