“Anyhow, he’s in an awful stew. Seems like I ought to do something.” “No—he would behave like one _sauvage_. It is to make to leave him alone. To-morrow, perhaps....” CHAPTER XIV Andree glanced at her watch as she emerged from the Metro at the St.-Michel station that evening and noticed that it was almost exactly seven o’clock. With quaint, almost stiff little steps she proceeded across the Place, her eyes lowered with that charmingly unconscious demureness which was a part of her, her thoughts directed inward, as they always seemed to be. She had a gift of detachment; it was possible for her to be in the midst of a crowd, and yet to seem and to be unconscious of the crowd’s proximity or existence. She always seemed grave, with a tiny hint of apprehension, and when, as she rarely did, she raised her eyes to regard some passing individual, it was with a sort of naïve wonder to discover that there was another human being in her neighborhood.... That is how she impressed one. What she was really thinking, how much she saw of what went on about her, nobody ever knew. Kendall, who had studied her every mood, had not the least idea of what her little head busied itself with. She was a dainty mystery to him. She was a dainty mystery to everybody who felt an interest in her. “Good evening, Mademoiselle Andree,” said a voice in her own language, and she looked up with that childishly startled air which was hers alone. It was Monsieur Robert, smiling with handsome boyishness and with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. She regarded him gravely. “Good evening, monsieur,” she replied, timidly. “I have good fortune,” he said. “I have thought of you so often; I have wished to meet you, and, behold! here you are.” She made no reply, but stood looking at him questioningly. “Is it permitted to say that mademoiselle is very pretty this evening—as always?... Ah, we were to be friends, do you remember? It was agreed, was it not? And some day we were to talk of many things ... of the _Académie_ and the Comédie and of yourself. Was it not so?” “Yes, monsieur.” “It is well.” He laughed gaily. “Then shall we talk this evening? You shall dine with me, then.... It is impossible that you are much occupied. Fortune could not be so unkind. You will dine with me and we will talk of those plans of yours?” She considered a moment unsmilingly, and Monsieur Robert wondered what were her thoughts. It was impossible to guess. “Yes,” she said, presently. “There is a café at the corner of the rue Soufflot. Does that please you?” “Yes.”