"Good. Ah, yes; I saw you watching me. And, do you know, my friend, I have seen you before, or someone like you--and you look so friendly. Indeed, I would have spoken to you but for Changarnier. He is so jealous! You are lame?" "Yes, I am lame." "Then," said she, "I can never have met you before, for I have never known a lame man. But here we are." She led the way into a small café. The place was crowded enough, but we managed to get a seat. The people at the supper were mostly the remnants of the fancy-dress ball that had escaped from the police. I ordered everything that the place could supply, and I watched her as she ate. She was very beautiful; quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, with the exception of the Countess Feliciani. "You are not drinking. Why, you are not eating! What is the matter with you, M. l'Aristocrat?" "I am in love," replied I. She laughed. A Red Indian, who was supping at the next table with a grizzly bear who had taken his head off to eat more conveniently, spoke to her occasionally over his shoulder, giving details of their escape; and I was glad enough when the bill was presented, and we wandered out again into the street. The supper had put her in the highest spirits. She laughed at our fantastic shadows as we walked arm-in-arm down the silent Rue Petit Thouars. She chatted, not noticing my silence: told me of Cardillac's studio, and the "rapins," and the rules, and the life, and what her dress cost. "Thirty-five francs the material alone, for I made it myself. Do you admire it?" "Yes." "Oh, how dull you are! Yes! You ought to have said: 'Mademoiselle, your toilet is charming.' Now, repeat it after me." "Mademoiselle, your toilet is charming." "Good heavens! If a hearse could speak, it would speak like that. You are not gay. Never mind; you are all the nicer. Ah!" And she fell into a sentimental and despondent fit, drawing closer to me, so that our shadows made one. Then, at a door in a side street, down which we had turned, she stopped, and drew a key from her pocket. "I must see you again," I said. "It is absolutely necessary. When can I see you, and where?" The door was open now. She drew me close to her, as if to whisper something, but she whispered nothing. Our lips had met in the darkness. Then I was in the hall; the door was closed, and, following her, I was led up a steep staircase, past a landing, up another staircase to a door. She opened the door, and the moonlight struck us in the face. The great moon was framed in the lattice window, and against its face the fronds of a plant growing on the sill in a flower pot were silhouetted. The bare, poorly furnished room was filled with light, pure as driven snow. She shut the door, with a little laugh, and I took her in my arms. "Eloise!" I said. She pushed me away, and stared at me with the laugh withered on her lips. Never shall I forget her face. "Have you forgotten Toto?"