Chapter 1
Mademoiselle Rosine raised her glass. Her big black eyes flashed unutterable things across the pink roses. “I think,” she said, “that we drink the good health of our host, Meester Macheson, Meester Victor, is it not?” “Bravo!” declared a pallid-looking youth, her neighbour at the round supper table. “By Jove, if we were at the C te d’Or instead of the Warwick, we’d give him musical honours.” “I drink,” Macheson declared, “to all of us who know how to live! Jules, another magnum, and look sharp.” “Certainly, sir,” the man answered. There flashed a quick look of intelligence between the waiter and a ma tre d’h tel who was lingering near. The latter hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. It was a noisy party and none too reputable, but a magnum of champagne was an order. They were like
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