"Go, go," he said, "and good luck, or rather better luck."

I went out.

I heard the rustle of dresses, the sound of voices, on the
staircase. I stood aside, and, without being seen, saw the two
women pass me, accompanied by two young men. At the entrance to
the theatre they were met by a footman.

"Tell the coachman to wait at the door of the Cafe' Anglais,"
said Marguerite. "We will walk there."

A few minutes afterward I saw Marguerite from the street at a
window of one of the large rooms of the restaurant, pulling the
camellias of her bouquet to pieces, one by one. One of the two
men was leaning over her shoulder and whispering in her ear. I
took up my position at the Maison-d'or, in one of the first-floor
rooms, and did not lose sight of the window for an instant. At
one in the morning Marguerite got into her carriage with her
three friends. I took a cab and followed them. The carriage
stopped at No. 9, Rue d'Antin. Marguerite got out and went in
alone. It was no doubt a mere chance, but the chance filled me
with delight.

From that time forward, I often met Marguerite at the theatre or
in the Champs-Elysees. Always there was the same gaiety in her,
the same emotion in me.

At last a fortnight passed without my meeting her. I met Gaston
and asked after her.