With two millions of ready money lying close to his heart in the drafts of the Schneider Brothers, it never entered the young man’s mind that he might prolong his vacation indefinitely.
“Stay with us another eight days,” urged his companion, laying a caressing hand upon his arm. “Your Mélodie will wait for you!”
Brainard laughed, and for reply paid the waiter and rose from the table where they sat. They walked out into the soft night, and passed through the Tuileries Gardens, across the great square beyond, with its silent monuments and gleaming lights. When they reached Mme. Vernon’s apartment, the Frenchwoman urged him to enter.
“It is the last time,” she said sentimentally.
Brainard held out a friendly hand; but she would not let him go.
“I have not thanked you enough for this!” She pointed coquettishly to a lovely pendant which she had admired in a window of the Rue de la Paix, and which Brainard had bought for her.
“That’s nothing—just to remember me by!”
“I do not need it for that!”
“Good night,” he said, “and good-by—it has been a great week!”
And that was all.