hful, friendly Vingtneuf; feminine
Rouge; brusque, virile Noir; mean little, underbred Manque, and senile
Passe; priggish Pair with his skittish young wife; the Dozens,
_nouveaux-riches_, thinking themselves a cut above the humbler Simple
Chances in Roulette Society; the upright, unbending Columns; the
raffish Chevaux; the excitable Transversales, and the brilliant
Carres; charming on first acquaintance, but fickle as friends; the
twin, blind dwarfs, the Coups des Deux; these and many more, down to
the wretched, worried Intermittances, ever in a violent hurry to catch
a train but never catching it. I could see them all, still; but I saw
them pass with calmness now, for I wanted to find the Boy.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXXI

The Boy's Sister

"A little thing would make me tell
. . . how much I lack of a man."
--SHAKESPEARE.

The palace clock over in Monaco was striking eight as I reached the
steps of the Hotel de Paris. Eight had been the hour appointed. Now,
here were both the Hour and the Man: but where was the Boy?

I walked into the gay restaurant, with its window-wall, and the long
rank of candle-lit tables ready for dinner. Twenty people, perhaps,
were dining; but there was no slim figure in short black jacket, Eton
collar, and loose silk tie; no curly chestnut head; no blue-star eyes.
Cordially disliking everybody present, I marched down the length of
the room, and took a corner table, which was laid for four. On the
sparkling snow of the damask cloth burned a bonfire of scarlet
geraniums, and two red-shaded wax candles, of the kind which the Boy
used to call "candles with nostrils," made wavering rose-lights on the
white expanse.

I sat down, and an attentive waiter appeared at my elbow, having
apparently shot up from the floor like a pantomime demon.

"Monsieur desires dinner for one?" he deferentially enquired.

"I am expecting one or perhaps two friends," I replied. "I will wait
for them half an hour. If they do not come by the end of that time, I
will dine alone."

"Will Monsieur please to regard the menu?"

"Yes, thanks."

He put it in my hand with an appetizing bow, which would have been
almost as good as an _hors d'oeuvre_ had my mood been appreciative of
delicacies. But it was not; neither could I fix my mind upon the
ordering of a dinner. My eyes would keep jumping to the glass door at
the far end of the room. "I want the best dinner the house c