We were alone. She gave me her fingers, which I raised to my lips.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I can assure
you, however, that I have come at the earliest possible moment."

She motioned me to sit down upon the lounge by her side.

"Monsieur had a more interesting engagement, perhaps?" she murmured.

"Impossible!" I answered.

Now I had come here with no idea whatever of making love to this young
lady. My chief interest in her was because she, too, was an habitue of
this mysterious cafe; and because, from the first, I felt that she had
some other than the obvious reason for sending me that little note.
Nevertheless, it was for me to conceal these things, and I did not
hesitate to take her hand in mine as we sat side by side. She did not
draw it away, and she did not encourage me.

"Monsieur," she said, "do not, I beg of you, be rash. It was foolish
of me, perhaps, to meet you here. 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.