He made another gesture of protest with that wonderful left hand of his.

“Monsieur Foster, I must talk to Mademoiselle Rosa.”

“Impossible,” I replied. “It really is essential that you should keep quiet.”

“Kind friend, grant me this wish. When I have seen her I shall be better. It will do me much good.”

There was such a desire in his eyes, such a persuasive plaintiveness in his voice, that, against my judgment, I yielded.

“Very well,” I said. “But I am afraid I can only let you see her for five minutes.”

The hand waved compliance, and I told the valet to go and inquire for Rosa.