"It is written in a safer place," he told her. "We Prussian officers are trained to remember without writing things down. A face, an address, a conversation, the outlines of a country. Though for _reconnaissance_ there is nothing like _die Photographie_." He added: "When we meet in London I shall be able to tell you everything you wore to-night." "Really! ... How flattering! ... You’ve made a mental inventory?" They were retracing their steps to the avenue recently quitted. He walked with noiseless strides behind the tall, supple figure as it moved between the trellised vines and roses, gowned with its flaunting diadem, robed in the insincere splendours of the opera-mantle already described. "As you say. I shall be able to tell you that the back of your _mantel_ was cut in a V-shape nearly reaching to your waist-line. Shall I tell you why?" "If you’re keen to...." She felt a scorching breath between her shoulders and quickened her pace, making for the avenue. But he moved with her, his voice came thickly: "Because your back is so superbly beautiful you cannot bear to hide it from men!" "_Ah-h!_" She whirled about, glaring like an angry leopardess, her strong white arm upraised to strike. Face, throat, and bosom glowed with painful crimson. Between her violated, insulted shoulders, his furious kiss still burned and stung. "How dare you touch me!" she gasped. But he had shot past her even as she turned. He was running towards the avenue, calling gaily: "Were you looking for us, Lady Beauvayse? Here we are!" "Cad, cad!" she stammered. "Insufferable! beastly!" Then, because a scene was quite out of the question, she went forward with head held high, and resentment heaving her broad bosom, to meet Lady Beauvayse. "Pat! You needle in a haystack," cried her friend, "where did you get to?" "Nowhere. We missed you at the Café Concert," Patrine began. "And then," von Herrnung explained, "we happened to take the wrong turn. But we have not gone far before we are recalled." "—To the path of probity," suggested Lady Beauvayse, adding: "And in this instance the path of probity leads to the _Pavilion de Chahut_." She explained to Patrine: "_Chahut_ is the modern version of the _can-can_—famous in the days of the Second Empire; when the great cocodettes of the Court of the Tuileries—rivals of Cora Pearl and Skittles and other naughty persons—did high-kicking under the rose here, and they called the place Mabille." It was not easy to get near the Pavilion, so dense and variegated a crowd had congregated before its illuminated entrance. But the entrance fee was doubled. Gold must be paid to see the famous São Paulo dance. Thus many would-be pleasure-seekers of the less affluent kind turned back disappointed from the row of gilt turnstiles under the blazing archway, compelled to content themselves with the outer promenade.