The evening drew to a close and the crowd of Bernard's fellow-loungers
dispersed. The lighted windows of the Kursaal still glittered in
the bosky darkness, and the lamps along the terrace had not been
extinguished; but the great promenade was almost deserted; here and
there only a lingering couple--the red tip of a cigar and the vague
radiance of a light dress--gave animation to the place. But Bernard
sat there still in his tilted chair, beneath his orange-tree; his
imagination had wandered very far and he was awaiting its return to the
fold. He was on the point of rising, however, when he saw three figures
come down the empty vista of the terrace--figures which even at a
distance had a familiar air. He immediately left his seat and, taking
a dozen steps, recognized Angela Vivian, Blanche Evers and Captain
Lovelock. In a moment he met them in the middle of the terrace.

Blanche immediately announced that they had come for a midnight walk.

"And if you think it 's improper," she exclaimed, "it 's not my
invention--it 's Miss Vivian's."

"I beg pardon--it 's mine," said Captain Lovelock. "I desire the credit
of it. I started the idea; you never would have come without me."

"I think it would have been more proper to come without you than with
you," Blanche declared. "You know you 're a dreadful character."

"I 'm much worse when I 'm away from you than when I 'm with you," said
Lovelock. "You keep me in order."

The young girl gave a little cry.