"I beg your pardon—look—that is the place."
"What! under that mountebank's tent?"
"No; behind it—that café. Yes, that's the place."
Tobie led his charge into a sort of café, and told the waiter who came forward to meet them to show them to one of the private rooms on the first floor. Madame Plays did not seem at all alarmed when she heard her escort ask for a private room. She was afraid of nothing; indeed, she was strong enough to check any enterprise which did not please her. So she followed with an assured step as the waiter led them upstairs, then through a passageway, and opened the door of a small room looking on the Champs-Élysées.
"What can I offer you?" inquired Tobie of his charming companion; "ices, punch?"
"I will take an ice."
"Very good.—Waiter, some ices."
As the waiter left the room, Madame Plays exclaimed:
"Why don't you tell him that a gentleman will come and ask for us?"
"Ah! yes, to be sure."