“Can’t you suggest?”
“I know of a little Café de Paris. It is on the Boulevard des Dames, near the harbour. Say we meet there, at eight o’clock to-morrow morning, in time to catch the early mail?”
“O, yes, yes!”
“Hush! We have been long enough together. Do not forget; be silent as the grave.”
“Brains triumph!” thought Nicanor, as he went. “Alas, my poor, sweet, simple-minded comrade!”
De la Vénerie carried betimes quite a select little company with her to the rendezvous. They were all choking with fun and expectation.
“The dear ingénus!” said Captain Robillard. “It will be exquisite to see the fur fly. But precocity must have its lesson.”
They had their rolls and coffee in a closet adjoining the common room. There was a window overlooking the street.
“Hist!” whispered the tiny Comte de Bellenglise. “Here they come!”
Nicanor was the first to arrive. He was very spruce and cock-a-hoop. His big brown eyes were like fever-spots in his little body. He questioned, airily enough, the proprietor, who had been well prompted to answer him.