Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Hours were spent in preparation for the event. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.
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