"To the Opera. I have engaged the box that you prefer. We arrive for the last act of 'Samson et Dalila' and for the ballet."
"And afterwards?"
"To the Abbaye. After that, there is the Rat Mort—Albert must not be disappointed—and a new place, they tell me. One must see all these new places."
"And we leave here soon?"
"You are impatient!"
"Only to be alone with you," she answered. "Even those few moments in the automobile are precious."
He smiled at her across the table. She was very pretty with her fair hair and dark eyes, very Parisian, and yet with a shade of graceful seriousness about her eyes and mouth.
"Dear Marguerite," he said, "I wait only for one of my agents who comes to speak to me on a matter of business. He is due almost at this moment. After he has been here, then we go. Cannot you believe," he whispered, dropping his voice a little and leaning slightly across the table, "that I, too, will love to feel your dear fingers in mine, your lips, perhaps, for a moment, as we pass to the Opera?"
"It is a joy one must snatch," she murmured.
"There is no joy in life," he replied, "which is not the sweeter for being snatched, and snatched quickly."