'Where shall we go to?' I said.

'Oh, anywhere you like!' he answered--'to the restaurant in the
Bois; we will dine there, and you shall tell me all about yourself.'

'I want to hear about you first,' I said. 'Tell me your mystery.'

He took from his pocket a little silver-clasped morocco case, and
handed it to me. I opened it. Inside there was the photograph of a
woman. She was tall and slight, and strangely picturesque with her
large vague eyes and loosened hair. She looked like a clairvoyante,
and was wrapped in rich furs.

'What do you think of that face?' he said; 'is it truthful?'

I examined it carefully. It seemed to me the face of some one who
had a secret, but whether that secret was good or evil I could not
say. Its beauty was a beauty moulded out of many mysteries--the
beauty, in fact, which is psychological, not plastic--and the faint
smile that just played across the lips was far too subtle to be
really sweet.

'Well,' he cried impatiently, 'what do you say?'

'She is the Gioconda in sables,' I answered. 'Let me know all about
her.'

'Not now,' he said; 'after dinner,' and began to talk of other
things.