Then simultaneously a flash of recognition leaped into both faces.
"Why," cried the girl, "it is the little friend of the friend of Lize! How droll to meet like this!"
Her candor of speech was disarming; reticence fled before her smile, before her artless friendliness.
"What a strange chance!" said Max. "What brings you to the rue Müller, mademoiselle?"
She smiled, and in her smile there was a little touch of pride—an indefinite pride that glowed about her slender, youthful person like an aura.
"Monsieur, I live in this house—now."
"Now?" Sudden curiosity fired him.
"Ah, you do not comprehend! Last night was sad, monsieur; to-day—" She stopped.
"To-day, mademoiselle?"
For a second the clear, childish blue of her eyes flashed like a glimpse of spring skies.