th him I was sorry."

"You are very kind," I said, "to take so much interest."

She looked at me, for the first time, with some spice of coquetry in
her eyes.

"I think that I show my interest," she murmured, "in meeting monsieur
here. Tell me," she continued, "why were you there with Louis?"

"A chance affair," I answered. "I met him coming out of the Opera. I
was bored, and we went together to the Montmartre. There I think that
I was more bored still. It was Louis who proposed a visit to the Cafe
des Deux Epingles."

"Did you know," she asked, "that you would meet that man--the man with
whom you quarrelled?"

I shook my head.

"I had no idea of it," I answered.

She leaned just a little towards me.

"Monsieur," she said, "if you seek adventures over here, do not seek
them with Louis. He knows no friends, he thinks of nothing but of
himself. He is a very dangerous companion. There are others whom it
would be better for monsieur to make companions of."

"Mademoiselle," I answered, looking into her eyes, "these things are
not so interesting. You sent me last night a little note. When may I
see you once more in that wonderful blue gown, and take you myself to
the theatre, to supper,--where you will?"

She shot a glance at me from under her eyelids. The blind was not
drawn, and the weak sunlight played upon her features. She was
over-powdered and over-rouged, made up like all the smart women of her
world, but her features were still good and her eyes delightful.

"Ah, monsieur," she said, "but that would be doubly imprudent. It is
not, surely, well for monsieur to be seen too much in Paris to-day? He
was badly hurt, that poor Monsieur Tapilow."

"Mademoiselle," I assured her, "there are times when the risk counts
for nothing."

"Are all Englishmen so gallant?" she murmured.

"Mademoiselle," I answered, "with the same inducement, yes!"

"Monsieur has learned how to flatter," she remarked.

"It is an accomplishment which I never mastered," I declared.

She sighed. All the time I knew quite well that she carried on this
little war of words impatiently. There were other things of which she
desired to speak.

"Tell me, monsieur," she said, "what had he done to you, this man
Tapilow?"

I shook my head.

"You must forgive me," I said. "That is between him and me."

"And Monsieur Louis," she murmured.

"Louis knew nothing about it," I declared.

She seemed perplexed. She had evidently made up her mi