Between the first
and second acts a note was handed to me. It was not addressed, neither
was it signed. But it was for me; the bearer spoke my name. As near
as I can remember, the note contained these words:
"A carriage will await you two blocks south; it will be without lights.
You will enter it exactly ten minutes after the opera is ended."
That was all, but it was enough. When I returned to my seat I found
the Princess gazing intently at me. I made an affirmative gesture and
was rewarded with a smile which set my blood to rushing. I made little
out of the last act. I could not dream what the anonymous note had
behind it. I suspicioned an intrigue, but what use had she for me, an
American, a very nobody? Something unusual was about to take place and
I was to be a witness or a participant of it. That was as far as my
talent for logical deduction went. Promptly at the stated time I stood
at the side of the carriage. It was the plainest sort of an affair.
Evidently it had been hired for the occasion. The door opened.
"Step in, monsieur," said a low voice in French.
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