Pommery, Gout Anglais, and some biscuits. Is that right, Louis?"

We both hastened to express our approval. Monsieur Carvin was called
by some one at the other end of the room and hurried away. Louis
turned to me. There was a curious expression in his eyes.

"You are disappointed?" he asked. "You see nothing here different? It
is all the same to you."

"Not in the least," I answered. "For one thing, it seems strange to
find a restaurant de luxe up here, when below there is only a cafe of
the worst. Are they of the same management?"

"Up here," he said, "come the masters, and down there the
servants. Look around at these people, monsieur. Look around
carefully. Tell me whether you do not see something different here
from the other places."

I followed Louis' advice. I looked around at the people with an
interest which grew rather than abated, and for which I could not at
first account. Soon, however, I began to realize that although this
was, at first appearance, merely a crowd of fashionably dressed men
and women, yet they differed from the ordinary restaurant crowd in
that there was something a little out of the common in the faces of
nearly every one of them. The loiterers through life seemed absent.
These people were relaxing freely enough,--laughing, talking, and
making love,--but behind it all there seemed a note of seriousness, an
intentness in their faces which seemed to speak of a career, of things
to be done in the future, or something accomplished in the past. The
woman who sat at the opposite table to me--tall, with yellow hair, and