black alpaca apron.

"Good-day, madame!" The Irishman rose and took off his hat with a
flourish that was essentially flattering.

The bright little eyes of the _Parisienne_ sparkled, and her round face
relaxed into the inevitable smile.

'What could she have the pleasure of offering monsieur? It was late, but
she had an excellent _ragoût_, now a little cold, perhaps, but capable
in an instant--'

The stranger put up his hand. "Madame, we could not think of giving you
the trouble--"

"Monsieur, a pleasure--"

"No, madame, it is past the hour of _déjeuner_. All we need is your
charming hospitality and two cups of coffee."

'Coffee! But certainly! While monsieur was saying the word it would be
made and served.'

Madame hurried off, and in silence the Irishman took out his
cigarette-case and offered it to the boy. Bare and even cold as the
_café_ was, there was a certain sense of shelter in the closed glass
door, in the blue film of cigarette smoke that presently began to mount
upward toward the ceiling, and in the pleasant smell of coffee borne to
them from unseen regions mingling with the shrill, cheerful tones of
their hostess's voice.