"No; my Frenchman had a mustache and a goatee."
Her hand dropped listlessly. I confess to the thought that it must have been very trying for her. What a plucky girl she was! She held me in contempt, and yet she clung to me, patiently and unmurmuring. And I had lost her!
"We may have to go down town.... No! as I live, there he is now!"
"Where?" There was half a sob in her throat.
"The table by the short flight of stairs ... the man just lighting the cigarette. I'll go alone."
"But I can not stand here alone in the middle of the floor...."
I called a waiter. "Give this lady a chair for a moment;" and I dropped a coin in his palm. He bowed, and beckoned for her to follow.... Women are always writing fool things, and then moving Heaven and earth to recall them.
"Monsieur de Beausire?" I said.
Beausire glanced up.
"Oh, eet ees.... I forget zee name?"