and yet he was slow to recognize her. He felt a certain
strangeness in seeing in full reality the countenance which had occupied
his imagination for three months, each time more spirituelle and shadowy
with the idealism of absence. But his doubts were of short duration.
Then it seemed as though time and space were eliminated, that he had
not made any voyage, and but a few hours had intervened since their last
interview.

Marguerite divined the expansion which might follow Julio's
exclamations, the vehement hand-clasp, perhaps something more, so she
kept herself calm and serene.

"No; not here," she said with a grimace of repugnance. "What a
ridiculous idea for us to have met here!"

They were about to seat themselves on the iron chairs, in the shadow of
some shrubbery, when she rose suddenly. Those who were passing along the
boulevard might see them by merely casting their eyes toward the
garden. At this time, many of her friends might be passing through the
neighborhood because of its proximity to the big shops. . . . They,
therefore, sought refuge at a corner of the monument, placing themselves
between it and the rue des Mathurins. Desnoyers brought two chairs near
the hedge, so that when seated they were invisible to those passing on
the other side of the railing. But this was not solitude. A few steps
away, a fat, nearsighted man was reading his paper, and a group of
women were chatting and embroidering. A woman with a red wig and two
dogs--some housekeeper who had come down into the garden in order to
give her pets an airing--passed several times near the amorous pair,
smiling discreetly.

"How annoying!" groaned Marguerite. "Why did we ever come to this
place!"

The two scrutinized each other carefully, wishing to see exactly what
transformation Time had wrought.

"You are darker than ever," she said. "You look like a man of the sea."

Julio was finding her even lovelier than before, and felt sure that
possessing her was well worth all the contrarieties which had brought
about his trip to South America. She was taller than he, with an
elegantly proportioned slenderness. "She has the musical step,"
Desnoyers had told himself, when seeing her in his imagination; and now,
on beholding her again, the first thing that he admired was her rhythmic
tread, light and graceful as she passed through the garden seeking
another seat. Her features were not regular but they had a piquant
fascination--a true Parisian fac