She made a little grimace.
“But you are cold!”
“You do not understand,” he answered. “They are watching me—even to-night they are watching me. Oh, if you only knew, Louise, how I have longed for this hour that is to come!”
Her vanity was assuaged. She patted his hand but came no nearer.
“You are a foolish man,” she said, “very foolish.”
“It is not for you to say that,” he replied. “If I have been foolish, were not you often the cause of my folly?” Again she laughed.
“Oh, la, la! It is always the same! It is always you men who accuse! For that presently I shall reprove you. But now—as for now, behold, we have arrived!”
“It is a crowded thoroughfare,” the man remarked, nervously, looking up and down Shaftesbury Avenue.
“Stupid!” she cried, stepping out. “I do not recognize you to-night, little one. Even your voice is different. Follow me quickly across the pavement and up the stairs. There is only one flight. The flat I have borrowed is on the second floor. I do not care very much that people should recognize me either, under the circumstances. There is nothing they love so much,” she added, with a toss of the head, “as finding an excuse to have my picture in the paper.”
He followed her down the dim hall and up the broad, flat stairs, keeping always some distance behind. On the first landing she drew a key from her pocket and opened a door. It was the door of Monsieur Guillot’s sitting-room. A round table in the middle was laid for supper. One light alone, and that heavily shaded, was burning.