tinguished, indescribable. By his
side was a girl who had the air of wearing her first long skirt, whose
hair was arranged in somewhat juvenile fashion, and whose dark eyes
were still glowing with the joy of the music. Her figure, though very
slim, was delightful, and she walked as though her feet touched the
clouds. Her laugh, which I heard distinctly as she brushed by me only
a few feet away, was like music. Of all the people who had passed me,
or whom I had come across during my fortnight's stay in Paris, there
was no one half so attractive. The girl was absolutely charming; the
man, remarkable not only in himself, but for a certain air of
repressed emotion, which, while it robbed his features of the dignity
of repose, was still, in a way, fascinating. They entered a waiting
motor-car splendidly appointed, and I heard the man tell the tall,
liveried footman to drive to the Ritz. I leaned forward a little
eagerly as they went. I watched the car glide off and disappear,
watched it until it was out of sight, and afterwards, even, watched
the spot where it had vanished. Then, with a little sigh, I turned
back once more into the great hall. There seemed to be no one left
now of any interest. The women had become ordinary, the men
impossible. With a little sigh I too aimlessly descended the steps,
and stood for a moment uncertain which way to turn.

"Monsieur is looking for a light?" a quiet voice said in my ear.

I turned, and found myself confronted by a Frenchman, who had also
just issued from the building and was himself lighting a cigarette. He
was clean-shaven and pale, so pale that his complexion was almost
olive. He had soft, curious-looking eyes. He was of medium height,
dark, correctly dressed according to the fashion of his country,
although his tie was black and his studs of unusual size. Something
about his face struck me from the first as familiar, but for the
moment I could not recall having seen him before.

"Thank you very much," I answered, accepting the match which he
offered.

The night was clear, and breathlessly still. The full yellow moon was
shining in an absolutely cloudless sky. The match--an English wax
one, by the way--burned without a flicker. I lit my cigarette, and
turning around found my companion still standing by my side.

"Monsieur does not do me the honor to recollect me," he remarked, with
a faint smile.

I looked at him steadfastly.

"I am sorry," I said. "Your face is perfect