wanted to see who was there.

Of a sudden, for no reason that he could possibly have explained, an
impulse made him walk into the restaurant. In that instant he felt
positively, he could have sworn that Madame de Corantin was there. His
heart beat so that he thought it must be heard as he made his way to the
entrance, and immediately, with a strange sort of intuition, his eyes
found her.

There she was, at the table on the right. He could see her through the
glass screen, and Ramsey was with her. He stood still a moment, devouring
her with his eyes, and then she looked up and recognized him. Was she
really beckoning to him? The reaction was so great that he dared not
believe the evidence of his senses. No, there was no doubt; she was
actually beckoning. As he walked towards the table he felt as though his
legs would give way under him; and now he was by her; he held her hand.

"Ah, Bobby, my friend, I am so pleased to see you."

The familiar voice, the familiar glance! It was all too good to be true.
He was blind to the presence of Ramsey. He was alone with her; Ramsey did
not exist; the restaurant did not exist. The hum of voices, the clatter
of plates, the movements of the waiters, were distant sounds: all he knew
was that he was standing there by her.

"Sit down, Bobby."

Mechanically he seated himself, and gradually some of his equanimity
returned. He could speak, but he said nothing of what he felt.
Instinctively he knew that it was wiser to make no reference to anything