his manner distinctly puzzling. With his lips he was smiling approval
at the little _danseuse_ who was pirouetting near our table, but
it seemed to me that his mind was busy with other thoughts. Suddenly
he turned his head toward mine.

"Monsieur must remember," he said quietly, "that a place like this is
as the froth on our champagne. It is all show. It exists and it passes
away. This very restaurant may be unknown in a year's time,--a beer
palace for the Germans, a den of absinthe and fiery brandy for the
_cochers_. It is for the tourists, for the happy ladies of the
world, that such a place exists. For those who need other
things--other things exist."

"Go on, Louis," I said quietly. "You have something in your mind. What
is it?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I could take monsieur somewhere where
he would be more entertained. There is nothing to do there, nothing to
see, little music. But it is a place,--it has an atmosphere. It is
different. I cannot explain. Monsieur would understand if he were
there."

"Then, for Heaven's sake, let us pay our bill and go!" I
exclaimed. "We have both had enough of this, at any rate."

Louis did not immediately reply. I turned around--we were sitting side
by side--wondering at his lack of response. What I saw startled
me. The man's whole expression had changed. His mouth had come