account of this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many
places in New York, and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife
interest me somewhat. And the people one see here are immensely funny.
That is your English expression, isn't it? There are three actresses
over there at that table with _amis intimes_; they are 'restin' now,
and can cut about and dine out as much as they please. There is a
French dressmaker who lives on the floor above and is to be found
here every day. She is superbly built and is hopelessly ugly, isn't
she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an Englishman like yourself, you
see--what the devil is he staring at like that?"

From behind a _portiere_ which fell across the end of the room came
a woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her.
Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her
for there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the
countenance. It was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark
over the upper lip, and had she not been so very pale and so
exceptionally well-dressed I should not have looked at her twice.
She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, lustrous, and fitting her
slender figure to perfection. It was cut square and low in the front
and fell away in long folds upon the floor at the back. What an
apparition she made in the midst of this noisy crowd, smoking,
chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I noticed that as
she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips were moving
nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As for her
eyes, they were everywhere in an instant.

"'Tis Felicite. You are fortunate," murmured De Kock. "And she is a
little worse than usual."