were, saved her the trouble; for she had not been serving in the Cafe
more than a month when, early one afternoon, in walked her Lord and
Master. 'Mam'sell Marie,' as of course we called her over there, was at
that moment busy talking to two customers, while smiling at a third; and
our hero, he gave a start the moment he set eyes on her."

"You told me that when he saw her there he didn't know her," I reminded
Henry.

"Quite right, sir," replied Henry, "so I did; but he knew a pretty girl
when he saw one anywhere at any time--he was that sort, and a prettier,
saucier looking young personage than Marie, in spite of her misfortunes,
as I suppose you'd call 'em, you wouldn't have found had you searched
Paris from the Place de la Bastille to the Arc de Triomphe."

"Did she," I asked, "know him, or was the forgetfulness mutual?"

"She recognised him," returned Henry, "before he entered the Cafe, owing
to catching sight of his face through the glass door while he was trying
to find the handle. Women on some points have better memories than men.
Added to which, when you come to think of it, the game was a bit
one-sided. Except that his moustache, maybe, was a little more imposing,
and that he wore the clothes of a gentleman in place of those of an able-
bodied seaman before the mast, he was to all intents and purposes the
same as when they parted six years ago outside the church door; while she
had changed from a child in a short muslin frock and a 'flapper,' as I
believe they call it, tied up in blue ribbon, to a self-possessed young
woman in a frock that might have come out of a Bond Street show window,
and a Japanese coiffure, that being then the fashion.