“Monsieur Lacrisse, that is a poetical letter.”
“That is true,” returned Lacrisse.
And a long look passed between them.
After this nothing further memorable was said as they sat in the summer’s night before the flowers and candles of the little restaurant table.
The time came for them to go. As Monsieur Joseph Lacrisse placed her cloak round the Baronne’s plump shoulders, she held out her hand to Monsieur de Terremondre, who was saying good-bye. He was walking to Neuilly, where he was staying for the time being.
“It is quite near, only a quarter of a mile. I am sure, madame, that you don’t know Neuilly. I have discovered, at Saint-James, the remnant of an old park, with a group by Lemoyne in a trelliswork arbour. I must show it to you some day.”
And already his tall strongly-built figure was receding along the path that lay bathed in the blue moonlight.
The Baronne offered to give the Gromances a lift in the carriage which her brother Wallstein had sent for her from the club.
“Get in with me, there is plenty of room for three.”
But the Gromances were people of discretion. They hailed a cab which had stopped outside the restaurant gates and got into it before she had time to stop them. She and Joseph Lacrisse were left standing alone by the open door of the carriage.