service to him."

Then she at last took her departure, feeling pleased at having left the
two men together. Claude looked at Florent with a feeling of interest.
That tall, slight, wavy figure seemed to him original. Madame Francois's
hasty presentation was in his eyes quite sufficient, and he addressed
Florent with the easy familiarity of a lounger accustomed to all sorts
of chance encounters.

"I'll accompany you," he said; "which way are you going?"

Florent felt ill at ease; he was not wont to unbosom himself so readily.
However, ever since his arrival in Paris, a question had been trembling
on his lips, and now he ventured to ask it, with the evident fear of
receiving an unfavourable reply.

"Is the Rue Pirouette still in existence?"

"Oh, yes," answered the artist. "A very curious corner of old Paris
is the Rue Pirouette. It twists and turns like a dancing girl, and the
houses bulge out like pot-bellied gluttons. I've made an etching of it
that isn't half bad. I'll show it to you when you come to see me. Is it
to the Rue Pirouette that you want to go?"

Florent, who felt easier and more cheerful now that he knew the street
still existed, declared that he did not want to go there; in fact, he
did not want to go anywhere in particular. All his distrust awoke into
fresh life at Claude's insistence.

"Oh! never mind," said the artist, "let's go to the Rue Pirouette all