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.