"No; it is the sparkle of your eyes behind that envious mask, the grace of each gesture, the soul of music in your voice, the poetry in every motion that proclaims you the ideal 'Carmen.'"
"Save for one thing: a cigarette, s'il vous plait, monsieur," and I extended my hand.
Slowly, even as though he realized that he was being drawn into a trap, he took one of them from his pocket and hesitatingly handed it to me.
Half suspiciously, half in a fashion of tenderness, he held a match to the cigarette, and then, almost before the paper had caught, it dropped through my fingers to the ground; and I, with a laugh at my carelessness, placed my heel upon it and edged it beneath my skirt.
My shoe pressed upon it lightly, my lips smiled apologetically, yet murmured, "Merci, monsieur," as I awaited another to replace it.
I saw his features tighten as his eyes followed my movements, yet what could he do? Realizing that I had discovered him, and I could not but feel that he knew it, he gave me another, and I lighted it.
For a second we measured glances, and I knew that he fathomed my plans as truly as I did his.
"You are a clever little devil!" he said, with almost a touch of appreciation.
"Monsieur!"
"You have my cigarette under your shoe, but what of that? In a minute I shall offer you my arm, you will take it, we shall go to the ballroom and dance the cotillion."