"Un ballon, garçon," said Mlle. Fouchette, promptly.
This designated a small glass of beer, served in a balloon-shaped glass like a large claret glass.
Madeleine also would take "un ballon," Jean contenting himself with the usual "bock,"—an ordinary glass of beer.
Each covered the beer with the little saucer, to protect it from the occasional gust of confetti that even found its way to the extreme rear of the half a hundred sidewalk sitters.
Mlle. Fouchette had been studying the young man from the corners of her eyes. She saw him greatly changed. His handsome face betrayed marks of worry or dissipation,—she decided on the latter. What could a young man in his enviable position have to worry about? Was it possible that——
"Monsieur," she began at once, with the air of an ingénue, "they say you strongly resemble one Lerouge,—that you are often taken one for the other. Is it so?"
He glanced at her inquiringly, while Madeleine patted the ground with her foot.
"Have you ever seen Henri Lerouge?" he asked.
"No, never," replied Fouchette.
"Does he look like me, Madeleine?"