Their table faced the entrance, and Madame de Corantin’s seat enabled her to see every one who entered or left the restaurant. Alistair Ramsey was standing in the doorway, waiting for the head waiter to show him to his table. His eyes were fixed upon Madame de Corantin’s face. The look of astonishment Bobby had noticed before had given place to one of mingled surprise and curiosity. He had exchanged his uniform for evening dress, and wore a flower in his buttonhole. A waiter went towards him, and he began threading his way through the diners. Another instant, and he stood beside Madame de Corantin’s chair. Under the compulsion of a will felt but not expressed in words, Bobby rose as he approached, and introduced him. “I hope you will allow me to join you after dinner?” Alistair Ramsey asked as he bowed. Madame de Corantin smiled affirmatively, and Bobby ground his teeth as Ramsey proceeded to his table. * * * * * Madame de Corantin did not care for the chatter and casual encounters of the public rooms of an hotel. It was her practice to retire to her own salon after dinner, unless she were going to a theatre. After the first two or three days of their acquaintance she had invited Bobby to join her there, and he had been immensely flattered. He looked forward to that moment every evening, for it seemed to him to admit a certain intimacy which he greatly valued. But now his heart was beating with apprehension. Would she ask Ramsey to her private apartment? “May I tell the waiter to bring coffee upstairs?” he asked in a low tone. “By all means,” she said, “but you might order for three and leave word for Mr. Ramsey to join us when he has finished his dinner.” Her tone was careless, and Bobby’s heart turned to stone. “Perhaps I had better tell him myself?” He tried to conceal his chagrin, but his voice betrayed him. Madame de Corantin turned to him gaily. “Oh, I expect he’ll find his way without that,” she answered, “and I want to tell you something before he comes.” “Come and sit here by me,” she said, as they entered her apartment. “You have been very discreet; I have noticed it from the beginning. Had it not been for that I could not have allowed you to be with me so much. Discretion is a great gift, Mr. Froelich.” “Oh, please don’t call me ‘Mr. Froelich’; couldn’t you manage to say ‘Bobby’ at least once before Ramsey appears?” Madame de Corantin broke into that catching laugh of hers. “Very well then, ‘Bobby,’ my friend, I am going to trust to your discretion by telling you my little story. I was once travelling on a ship going to America--at that time I was very unhappy. I was quite alone. My husband had recently died. I have been very lucky in my life--you are an example.” “I?” exclaimed Bobby. “Yes, you. Did you not arrive on the scene just when I wanted you, at the Gare du Nord?” “Oh yes, I see what you mean. Of course, of course; thanks awfully for saying that.”