"Where is Alida?" he asked presently.
"In her room, surrounded by thousands of dressmakers, hatmakers, mantua-makers, furriers, experts in shoes, lingerie, jewelry, and other inexpensive trifles," said I with satisfaction.
But the infatuated man never winced.
"You will attend to that sort of thing in the future," I remarked.
The reckless man grinned in unfeigned delight.
"Come," said I, wearily, "Alida is in for all day with her trousseau. I've a cab at the door; come on! I was going out to watch the parade at Longchamps. Now you've got to go with me and tell me something about this temperamental French army that seems more numerous in Paris than the civilians."
"What do you want to see soldiers for?" he objected.
"Because," said I, "I had some slight experience with the army this morning just before you arrived; and I want to take a bird's-eye view of the whole affair."
"But I——"
"Oh, we'll return for dinner and then you can see Alida," I added. "But only in my company. You see we are in France, Van, and she is the jeune fille of romance."