One morning Henriette said to Paul: “Will you take me to a cafe for dinner?” “Certainly, dearie.” “To some well-known cafe?” “Of course!” He looked at her with a questioning glance, seeing that she was thinking of something which she did not wish to tell. She went on: “You know, one of those cafes—oh, how can I explain myself?—a sporty cafe!” He smiled: “Of course, I understand—you mean in one of the cafes which are commonly called bohemian.” “Yes, that's it. But take me to one of the big places, one where you are known, one where you have already supped—no—dined—well, you know—I—I—oh! I will never dare say it!” “Go ahead, dearie. Little secrets should no longer exist between us.” “No, I dare not.” “Go on; don't be prudish. Tell me.” “Well, I—I—I want to be taken for your sweetheart—there! and I want the boys, who do not know that you are married, to take me for such; and you too—I want you to think that I am your sweetheart for one hour, in that place which must hold so many memories for you. There! And I will play that I am your sweetheart. It's awful, I know—I am abominably ashamed, I am as red as a peony. Don't look at me!” He laughed, greatly amused, and answered: “All right, we will go to-night to a very swell place where I am well known.” Toward seven o'clock they went up the stairs of one of the big cafes on the Boulevard, he, smiling, with the look of a conqueror, she, timid, veiled, delighted. They were immediately shown to one of the luxurious private dining-rooms, furnished with four large arm-chairs and a red plush couch. The head waiter entered and brought them the menu. Paul handed it to his wife. “What do you want to eat?” “I don't care; order whatever is good.” After handing his coat to the waiter, he ordered dinner and champagne. The waiter looked at the young woman and smiled. He took the order and murmured: “Will Monsieur Paul have his champagne sweet or dry?” “Dry, very dry.” Henriette was pleased to hear that this man knew her husband's name. They sat on the couch, side by side, and began to eat. Ten candles lighted the room and were reflected in the mirrors all around them, which seemed to increase the brilliancy a thousand-fold. Henriette drank glass after glass in order to keep up her courage, although she felt dizzy after the first few glasses. Paul, excited by the memories which returned to him, kept kissing his wife's hands. His eyes were sparkling. She was feeling strangely excited in this new place, restless, pleased, a little guilty, but full of life. Two waiters, serious, silent, accustomed to seeing and forgetting everything, to entering the room only when it was necessary and to leaving it when they felt they were intruding, were silently flitting hither and thither. Toward the middle of the dinner, Henriette was well under the influence of champagne. She was prattling along fearlessly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glistening. “Come, Paul; tell me everything.” “What, sweetheart?”