If mademoiselle looks at me, it is not gallant to look away." Louis' face was puckered up with anxiety.

He saw, too, what I had seen.

Bartot had walked to the other end of the room to speak to some friends.

The girl had taken a gold and jewelled pencil from the mass of costly trifles which lay with her purse upon the table, and was writing on a piece of paper which the waiter had brought.

I could see her delicately manicured fingers, the blue veins at the back of her hands, as she wrote, slowly and apparently without hesitation.