"Monsieur," she said, "if you seek adventures over here, do not seek them with Louis. He knows no friends, he thinks of nothing but of himself. He is a very dangerous companion. There are others whom it would be better for monsieur to make companions of."
"Mademoiselle," I answered, looking into her eyes, "these things are not so interesting. You sent me last night a little note. When may I see you once more in that wonderful blue gown, and take you myself to the theatre, to supper,—where you will?"
She shot a glance at me from under her eyelids. The blind was not drawn, and the weak sunlight played upon her features. She was over-powdered and over-rouged, made up like all the smart women of her world, but her features were still good and her eyes delightful.
"Ah, monsieur," she said, "but that would be doubly imprudent. It is not, surely, well for monsieur to be seen too much in Paris to-day? He was badly hurt, that poor Monsieur Tapilow."
"Mademoiselle," I assured her, "there are times when the risk counts for nothing."
"Are all Englishmen so gallant?" she murmured.
"Mademoiselle," I answered, "with the same inducement, yes!"
"Monsieur has learned how to flatter," she remarked.
"It is an accomplishment which I never mastered," I declared.
She sighed. All the time I knew quite well that she carried on this little war of words impatiently. There were other things of which she desired to speak.