one, by the way--burned without a flicker. I lit my cigarette, and
turning around found my companion still standing by my side.

"Monsieur does not do me the honor to recollect me," he remarked, with
a faint smile.

I looked at him steadfastly.

"I am sorry," I said. "Your face is perfectly familiar to me, and
yet--No, by Jove, I have it!" I broke off, with a little laugh. "It's
Louis, isn't it, from the Milan?"

"Monsieur's memory has soon returned," he answered, smiling. "I have
been chief _maitre d'hotel_ in the cafe there for some years. The
last time I had the honor of serving monsieur there was only a few
weeks ago."

I remembered him perfectly now. I remembered, even, the occasion of my
last visit to the cafe. Louis, with upraised hat, seemed as though he
would have passed on, but, curiously enough, I felt a desire to
continue the conversation. I had not as yet admitted the fact even to
myself; but I was bored, weary of my search, weary to death of my own
company and the company of my own acquaintances. I was reluctant to
let this little man go.

"You visit Paris often?" I asked.

"But naturally, monsieur," Louis answered, accepting my unspoken
invitation by keeping pace with me as we strolled towards the
Boulevard. "Once every six weeks I come over here. I go to the Ritz,