“Oh, ah!” cried the Fr�ulein, not understanding.
“Yi,” smiled Maurice indulgently.
“I think you’re mistaken,” said the father, rather pathetically, smiling at the girl as if she were “wanting”.
“Oh no,” she cried. “I see him.”
“Nay, lass,” smiled Maurice quietly.
She was a Pole, named Paula Jablonowsky: young, only twenty years old, swift and light as a wild cat, with a strange, wild-cat way of grinning. Her hair was blonde and full of life, all crisped into many tendrils with vitality, shaking round her face. Her fine blue eyes were peculiarly lidded, and she seemed to look piercingly,