Seated alone at a table behind him was a woman dressed in gray.
Her back was toward him, but he lost none of the beautiful
contours of her figure. She wore a gray alpine hat, below the
rim of which rebellious little curls escaped, curls of a fine
red-brown, which, as they trailed to the nape of the firm white
neck, lightened into a ruddy gold. Her delicate head was turned
aside, and to all appearances her gaze was directed to the
entrance to the pavilion. A heavy blue veil completely obscured
her features; though Maurice could see a rose-tinted ear and the
shadow of a curving chin and throat, which promised much. To a
man there is always a mystery lurking behind a veil. So he rose,
walked past her, returned and deliberately sat down in the chair
opposite to hers. The fact that gendarmes moved among the crowd
did not disturb him.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, politely lifting his hat.

She straightened haughtily. "Monsieur," she said, resentment,
consternation and indignation struggling to predominate in her
tones, "I did not give you permission to sit down. You are
impertinent!"

"O, no," Maurice declared. "I am not impertinent. I am lonesome.
In all Bleiberg I haven't a soul to talk to, excepting the hotel
waiters, and they are uninteresting. Grant me the privilege of
conversing with you for a moment. We shall never meet again; and
I should not know you if we did. Whether you are old or young,
plain or beautiful, it matters not. My only wish is to talk to a
woman, to hear a woman's voice"