Doctor Riche, who had been a silent listener to this conversation, after consulting his watch, drained his glass of eau sucrée, and rose with the intention of departing.
At this moment a garçon, carrying a tray filled with glasses high above his head, opened the door, and a sudden gust of wind lifted the little envelope off the table where Violette was sitting, and wafted it almost to the doctor's feet. Picking up the scented envelope with a dainty touch, he handed it to the elder lady with a ceremonious bow:
"Pardon, madame, allow me," said Riche as he glanced in a cursory manner at the address written upon it.
If the doctor expected to learn the fair unknown's private, or even perhaps her professional address, he was doomed to disappointment. The envelope which had unexpectedly fluttered to his feet merely bore the inscription, in a woman's handwriting:
A Mademoiselle Violette Beaupaire,
Poste Restante,
Paris.
"Merci, monsieur: que vous êtes bien gentil."
The doctor bowed again, and in so doing his eyes rested on the middle finger of the younger of the two ladies who had been addressed as Violette.
"What a lovely ring, and what a wonderful appearance it has," said the doctor, gaining courage as the ladies smiled at him. "Mademoiselle will permit that I may regard it, n'est ce pas? That is if mademoiselle will pardon a stranger?"
"With all my heart, monsieur, it is quite often that someone asks to be allowed to examine my ring, and they nearly all say how peculiar and unusual it looks. Then, when they have examined it, they invariably remark, 'But is it not too large a ring for mademoiselle to wear,' ah, but you see, monsieur, they do not know."
"But I forget something, mademoiselle; permit me to present myself, Doctor Riche, just returned from Algiers, entirely at the service of madame and mademoiselle."