They sat down now, and the waitress, whose tone was informal too, whisked over with, "And for mademoiselle Dupuy?" "Give me a glass of madère, Louise," she said. Still the young man seemed unable to find his tongue, and she went on: "I am afraid this place was rather out of the way for you? But I have got into the habit of dropping in here about this time; and it is cosy and one can talk." "Yes," he assented. He stole a timid glance at her, and looked quickly away. "Oh yes." "Who was it who gave you my address at last, monsieur?" "I do not know," he said awkwardly. "It was a man who heard me inquiring. I had immense trouble to find it out." "It is not a dead secret, however." "I suppose not--no--but I have no friends in Paris; I have never been in Paris before. And at the start I did not even know who you were." "You did not know who I was? Oh, you had seen something I had posed for?" "Yes, it was like that. I was anxious to find you, but I did not know your name. And I had no one to help me," he stammered; "it was enormously difficult." "You are a painter, monsieur Launay?" "No, mademoiselle." "Ah, a sculptor! That interests me still more." "I am not a sculptor either, mademoiselle," he admitted. "I am a composer." "A composer?" she echoed. "But--but a composer does not employ models." "No, mademoiselle, but I beg you not to think my motive impudent," exclaimed the young man, with the first touch of spontaneity that he had shown yet. "Mysterious merely," she smiled. Her expression offered him encouragement to elucidate the mystery, but nervousness seemed to overcome him again. He was boring her. She exchanged remarks across the room with a lady who wore one of the figured veils then in vogue, under which the victim of fashion appeared to have lost portions of her face. "Going to feed, Gaby?" "Yes, my dear, in a minute," she answered. She saw her correspondent regard the announcement "DINER 3 Fr." His invitation was constrained, and her acceptance listless.