'Now that they were alone, would it be an unpardonable liberty to ask
how old monsieur really was?'

Monsieur blushed.

'How old would madame suppose?'

Madame laughed. 'Oh, it was difficult to say! One might imagine from
those bright eyes that monsieur had nineteen years; but, again, it was
impossible to suppose that a razor had ever touched that soft cheek.'
There was another little laugh, lower this time and more subtle in tone;
and madame, with a movement wonderfully swift considering her years and
her proportions, leaned across the table and touched the boy's face.

The effect was instant. A tide of color rushed into his cheeks, he rose
with an alacrity that was comic.

'He--he was much older than madame supposed!'

Madame laughed delightedly. 'How charming! How ingenuous! He positively
must sit down again. It was assured that they would become friends!
Where was that waiter? Where was that second coffee-cup?'

But monsieur remained standing.

Madame's eyes, now alive with interest, literally danced to her
thoughts.

'Come! Come! They must not allow the coffee to become cold!'