"The very fact," he continued slowly, "that all the world amuses
itself, all the world is gay here, makes the solitude of the
unfortunate who has no companion a thing more _triste_, more
keenly to be felt. Monsieur is alone?"

"I am alone," I admitted, "except for the companions of chance whom
one meets everywhere."

We had been walking for some time slowly side by side, and we came now
to a standstill. Louis held up his hand and called a taximeter.

"Monsieur goes somewhere to sup, without a doubt," he remarked.

I remained upon the pavement.

"Really, I don't know," I answered undecidedly. "There is a great deal
of truth in what you have been saying. A man alone here, especially at
night, seems to be looked upon as a sort of pariah. Women laugh at
him, men pity him. It is only the Englishman, they think, who would do
so foolish a thing."

Louis hesitated. There was a peculiar smile at the corners of his lips
which I did not quite understand.

"If monsieur would honor me," he said apologetically, "I am going
to-night to visit one or perhaps two of the smallest restaurants up in
the Montmartre. They are by way of being fashionable now, and they
tell me that there is an _Homard Speciale_ with a new sauce which
must be tasted at the Abbaye."