on each veto. Ah! monsieur desired _Consommé Anton_. The proprietor's
face beamed and his arms were outstretched towards heaven. That this
gentleman should order _Consommé Anton_, the soup of which he alone
knew the secret, and which had been named after himself! Truly, the
life of a restaurateur was not without compensations. He turned on the
waiter--but that worthy had darted away to execute the order.


III.

The soup appeared. Monsieur Beauchamp stood by with the attitude of an
artist watching the hanging of his first painting in the Academy.

'You might let me see the wine list,' said Selwyn.

Monsieur Beauchamp struck an attitude of horror. Had it come to this
in the Café Rouge, that a patron must _ask_ for the wine list?
Brandishing his arms, he rushed from the table, almost colliding with
the little waitress, flew downstairs to the very farthest table near
the door, seized a wine card, and puffing generously, arrived with the
trophy at the table, much as Rothschild's messenger must have reached
London with the news that the British were winning at Waterloo. Having
then succeeded in making the American order a red wine when he wanted
white, Monsieur Beauchamp withdrew in a state of histrionic
self-satisfaction.

With a smile of relief Selwyn looked across the table at the girl.
Even in the soft glow of the lamp, which made for flattery, it seemed
to him that the vivacity of the morning had disappeared, and in its
place was the petulance of the previous evening. Her eyes, which