ooms," he said. "Will
monsieur follow me?"

"Why, certainly," I answered.

CHAPTER VII

A DOUBLE ASSIGNATION

I followed Leon upstairs to the region of smaller apartments. At the
door of one of these he knocked, and a feminine voice at once bade us
enter.

Mademoiselle was sitting upon a lounge, smoking a cigarette. On the
table before her stood an empty coffee-cup and an empty
liqueur-glass. She looked at me with a little grimace.

"At last!" she exclaimed.

"It is the gentleman whom mademoiselle was expecting?" Leon asked
discreetly.

"Certainly," she answered. "You may go, Leon."

We were alone. She gave me her fingers, which I raised to my lips.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I can assure
you, however, that I have come at the earliest possible moment."

She motioned me to sit down upon the lounge by her side.

"Monsieur had a more interesting engagement, perhaps?" she murmured.

"Impossible!" I answered.

Now I had come here with no idea whatever of making love to this young
lady. My chief interest in her was because she, too, was an habitue of
this mysterious cafe; and because, from the first, I felt that she had
some other than the obvious reason for sending me that little note.
Nevertheless, it was for me to conceal these things, and I did not
hesitate to take her hand in mine as we sat side by side. She did not
draw it away, and she did not encourage me.

"Monsieur," she said, "do not, I beg of you, be rash. It was foolish
of me, perhaps, to meet you here. We can talk for a few minutes, and
afterwards, perhaps, we may meet again, but I am frightened all the
time."

"Monsieur Bartot?" I asked.

She nodded.

"He is very, very jealous," she answered.

"You go with him every night to the restaurant in the Place d'Anjou?"
I asked.

"I go there very often," she answered. "Monsieur, unless I am
mistaken, is a stranger there."

I nodded.

"Last night," I told her, "I was there for the first time."

"You came," she said, toying with her empty liqueur-glass, "with
Louis."

"That is so," I admitted.

"Louis brings no one there without a purpose," she remarked.

"You know Louis, then?" I asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

"All the world knows Louis," she continued. "A smoother-tongued rascal
never breathed."

"Louis," I murmured, "would be flattered."

"Louis knows himself," she continued, "and he knows that others know
him. When I saw monsieur wi