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 with 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.