"Put the car away and come and dine with me at Moitriers."

She looked at him astonished. "The car? Whose car is it? Does it belong
to our garage?"

"It will in future. It arrived last night, fresh from Versailles. I am
arranging with Dennis for you to take it over to-morrow."

Her eyes sparkled. "A beautiful Renault! A brand new Renault!..."

He laughed. "Hurry, or you will faint with hunger. Put it away and come,
just as you are, to Moitriers, up into the balcony. I am going there
first to order a wonderful dinner."

In a quarter of an hour they were sitting behind the wooden balustrade
of the balcony at Moitriers--the only diners on the little landing that
overhung the one fashionable restaurant in Metz. It was a quarter to
nine; down below, the room, which was lined with mirrors set in gilt
frames, was filled with light; knives and forks still tapped upon the
plates, but the hour being late many diners leant across the strewn
tablecloths and talked, or sat a little askew in their chairs and
listened. A hum filled the warm air, and what was garish below, here,
behind the balustrade, became filtered and strained to delicate streaks
and bars of light which crossed and recrossed their cloth, their hands,
their faces--what was noisy below was here no more than a soft insect
bustle, a murmurous background to their talk.

The door of the balcony opened behind them, and Madame Berthe, the
proprietress herself, moved at their side; her old-fashioned body,