Septimus. In Paris, as she shrank from meeting possible acquaintances, he
found her a furnished _appartement_ in the Boulevard Raspail, while he
perched in a little hotel close by. The finding of the _appartement_ was an
illustration of his newly invented, optimistic theory of getting things
done.

He came back to the hotel where he had provisionally lodged her and
informed her of his discovery. She naturally asked him how he had found it.

"A soldier told me," he said.

"A soldier?"

"Yes. He had great baggy red trousers and a sash around his waist and a
short blue jacket braided with red and a fez with a tassel and a shaven
head. He saved me from being run over by a cab."

Emmy shivered. "Oh, don't talk of it in that calm way--suppose you had been
killed!"

"I suppose the Zouave would have buried me--he's such a helpful creature,
you know. He's been in Algiers. He says I ought to go there. His name is
Hégisippe Cruchot."

"But what about the flat?" asked Emmy.

"Oh, you see, I fell down in front of the cab and he dragged me away and
brushed me down with a waiter's napkin--there was a café within a yard or
two. And then I asked him to have a drink and gave him a cigarette. He
drank absinthe, without water, and then I began to explain to him an idea