"Are you?"
"Famished. Have you any money?"
"Lots."
"Good. Ah, yes; I saw you watching me. And, do you know, my friend, I have seen you before, or someone like you—and you look so friendly. Indeed, I would have spoken to you but for Changarnier. He is so jealous! You are lame?"
"Yes, I am lame."
"Then," said she, "I can never have met you before, for I have never known a lame man. But here we are."
She led the way into a small café. The place was crowded enough, but we managed to get a seat. The people at the supper were mostly the remnants of the fancy-dress ball that had escaped from the police.
I ordered everything that the place could supply, and I watched her as she ate.
She was very beautiful; quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, with the exception of the Countess Feliciani.
"You are not drinking. Why, you are not eating! What is the matter with you, M. l'Aristocrat?"