She looked up at him with sad and eloquent eyes, which softened his
heart in spite of himself. "You can't help me, thank you," she said,
"except by kind words and kind thoughts. I think, though, that it would
do me good to tell you things, if you really take an interest?"

"Of course I do." He was speaking the truth now. He was human, and she
was growing prettier, as she grew more pathetic, every moment.

"And would you advise me a little? I have nobody else to ask. My mother
and I know no one at Monte Carlo. Perhaps you would walk with me on the
terrace and let me talk?"

"Not on the terrace," he said, quickly, for he could not bear to meet
the sweet ghost of the past in the white dress and ermine stole, as he
gave advice to the flesh and blood reality of the present, in the pink
frock and roses. "What about Ciro's? Couldn't we find your mother
somewhere, and get her to chaperon us for lunch? I should think it must
be very jolly now, in the Galerie Charles Trois."

"So it would be; but my poor mother is very ill in her bed," said the
girl.

"Would she--er--do you think, as I'm an American, and we're almost old
friends, mind letting you have lunch just with me alone? Of course, if
she would mind, you must say no. But I must confess, I'm hungry as a
wolf; and it would be somewhere to sit and talk together, quietly, you
know."

"You are hungry," echoed the girl. "Ah, I would wager something that you
don't really know what hunger is. But I know--now."