The Prince of Seyre beckoned to them from the steps. He seemed to have been awaiting their arrival there—a cold, immaculate, and, considering his lack of height, a curiously distinguished-looking figure.
"I have a table inside," he told them as they approached. "It is better for conversation. The rest of the place is like a beer-garden. I am not sure if they will dance here to-day, but if they do, they will come also into the restaurant."
"Wise man!" Louise declared. "I, too, hate the babel outside."
They were ushered to a round table directly before the entrance, and a couple of attentive waiters stood behind their chairs.
"We are faced," said the prince, as he took up the menu, "with our daily problem. What can I order for you?"
"A cup of chocolate," Louise replied.
"And Miss Sophy?"
"Tea, please."
John, too, preferred tea; the prince ordered absinth.
"A polyglot meal, isn't it, Mr. Strangewey?" said Louise, as the order was executed; "not in the least; what that wonderful old butler of yours would understand by tea. We become depraved in our appetites, as well as in our sensations. We are always seeking for something new. Sophy, put your hat on straight if you want to make a good impression on Mr. Strangewey. I am hoping that you two will be great friends."