I left the Cadran-Bleu at my right, and, resigned to the prospect of dining less satisfactorily, entered the Méridien and asked for a private room. I was taken to it by a waitress. We passed a room where I heard Raymond’s voice, and I told my conductress to give me the adjoining one. The partition between me and the room which Raymond and his flame occupied was so thin that I could hear their voices when they did not speak in undertones. I left my door open, too; and as theirs was not closed, for their table was being laid, I could catch from time to time a portion of what my neighbor said; for he had the unfortunate habit of speaking very loud—a habit contracted in order to attract attention to himself, and retained even in his incognito. Judging from what I heard, he was putting himself out to please his guest, whose tastes he constantly consulted in ordering the dinner. I heard him read the bill of fare to her three times; she had much difficulty in making up her mind; she didn’t like anything; she wasn’t hungry; it made no difference to her; but she asked for a thousand things that were not on the bill. I readily concluded, from her affectations and fussing, that my neighbor had not made a very distinguished conquest; indeed, one would have said that she was making fun of him and that it amused her to annoy him. I was convinced that he would have nothing to show for his dinner.
Every time that I heard the woman’s voice it recalled confused memories. Yes, I was sure that I knew her, but I could not tell who she was; I had known so many that I might be pardoned for confusing them in my memory; and then, I caught only a few detached words. No matter! I was determined to see her, and I would find a way!
It seemed that Raymond decided at last to order the dinner himself, for I heard nothing more from him. The lady hummed a comic-opera air; that voice was certainly familiar to me.
I heard the bell, and the waitress appeared. Raymond gave her the card and ordered dinner at once, and the girl went downstairs. The lady expressed a wish for some fromage fouetté, which my neighbor had not ordered, and he ran after the girl to add it to his order. As he passed my room, the door of which I had been careful to leave ajar, he glanced in and saw me.
“What do I see? my dear friend Dorsan!”
“Himself, Monsieur Raymond. What on earth are you doing here?”
He entered the room with an air of mystery, walking on tiptoe, and pointed, with a smile, to the adjoining room.
“I am in there,” he said, trying to speak in an undertone; “next door.”
“Oho!”