Piccadilly, or the garishness of Frascati's, so he purchased and
remodelled an unobtrusive building in an unobtrusive street between
Shaftesbury Avenue and Oxford Street, but clear of Soho and its
adherents. He decorated the place in a rich red, and arranged some
_cabinets particuliers_ upstairs, where, by the screening of a curtain,
Madame the Wife and Monsieur the Lover could dine without molestation
of vulgar eyes.

Monsieur Beauchamp felt himself a benefactor, a missionary. He argued
that the only reason Londoners were not so flirtatious as Parisians was
lack of opportunity. He, the proprietor of the Café Rouge, would bring
light to the inhabitants of the foggy city. To assist in this
philanthropic work he brought with him an excellent cook, who had
killed a dyspeptic Cabinet Minister by tempting him with dishes
intended only for robust digestions, and three young and ambitious
waiters; while madame engaged what unskilled labour was required.

Unobtrusively they opened for business, for he knew that publicity
would spoil his chance of success. (Once convince a Londoner that he
is one of a select few who know a restaurant, and he will stand an hour
waiting for a table.) The first customer to enter received such
attention that he brought his family the next night. Monsieur
Beauchamp issued orders that he should be snubbed. _Parbleu_! was the
Café Rouge for _families_?

Gradually the justification of Monsieur Beauchamp's policy became
evident. Ladies of the Chorus brought their admirers there, and to the
former Monsieur Beauchamp paid particular courtesy. Long study of
feminine psychology had taught him that, whereas a woman may change her
lover, she will not change her favourite café. Therefore, though the