“Very well,” he answered. “Au revoir,” and he returned to his seat in the cafe, while she disappeared without returning to her companion.
The mysterious watcher resumed his coffee, for he had only been absent for a few moments, and the waiter had not cleared it away.
Hugh took out his cigarette-case and, suddenly finding himself without a match, made the opportunity for which the mysterious stranger had been waiting.
He struck one and handed it to his vis-a-vis, bowing with his foreign grace.
Then they naturally dropped into conversation.
“Ah! m’sieur is English!” exclaimed the shrewd-eyed little man. “Here, in Marseilles, we have many English who pass to and fro from the boats. I suppose, m’sieur is going East?” he suggested affably.
“No,” replied Hugh, speaking in French, “I have some business here—that is all.” He was highly suspicious of all strangers, and the more so of anyone who endeavoured to get into conversation with him.
“You know Marseilles—of course?” asked the stranger, sharply scrutinizing him.
“I have been here several times before. I find the city always gay and bright.”
“Not so bright as before the war,” declared the little man, smoking at his ease. “There have been many changes lately.”