Ross laughed, looked at his watch, and announced that it was time for _apéritifs_. The young man assented moodily, and they crossed the Terrace to the café tables beneath the awning. It was the dying afternoon of a sultry August day, and most of Illerville had deserted tennis courts, _tir aux pigeons_ and other distractions to listen lazily to the band in the Casino shade. The place was crowded; not a table vacant. When the waiter at last brought one from the interior of the café, he dumped it down beside the table occupied by the unspeakable Bernheim and the little Princess Ottilie. Somerset raised his hat as he took his seat. Bernheim responded with elaborate politeness, and Princess Ottilie greeted him with a faint smile. The engaged pair spoke very little to each other. Bernheim lounged back in his chair smoking a cigar and looked out to sea with a bored expression. When the girl made a casual remark he nodded rudely without turning his head. Somerset felt an irresistible desire to kick him. His external appearance was of the type that irritated the young Englishman. He was too handsome in a hard, swaggering black-mustachioed way; he exaggerated to offence the English style of easy dress; he wore a too devil-may-care Panama, a too obtrusive coloured shirt and club tie; he wore no waistcoat, and the hem of his new flannel trousers, turned up six inches, disclosed a stretch of tan-coloured silk socks clocked with gold matching elegant tan shoes. He went about with a broken-spirited poodle. He was inordinately scented. Somerset glowered at him, and let his drink remain untasted. Presently Bernheim summoned the waiter, paid him for the tea the girl had been drinking and pushed back his chair. "This hole is getting on my nerves," he said in French to his companion. "I am going into the _cercle_ to play écarté. Will you go to your mother whom I see over there, or will you stay here?" "I'll stay here," said the little Princess Ottilie. Bernheim nodded and swaggered off. Somerset bent forward. "I must see you alone to-night--quite alone. I must have you all to myself. How can you manage it?" Ottilie looked at him anxiously. She was fair and innocent, of a prettiness more English than foreign, and the scare in her blue eyes made them all the more appealing to the young man. "What is the good? You can't help me. Don't you see that it is all arranged?" "I'll undertake to disarrange it at a moment's notice," said Somerset. "Hush!" she whispered, glancing round; "somebody will hear. Everything is gossiped about in this place." "Well, will you meet me?" the young man persisted. "If I can," she sighed. "If they are both playing baccarat I may slip out for a little." "As at Spa." She smiled and a slight flush came into her cheek. "Yes, as at Spa. Wait for me on the _plage_ at the bottom of the Casino steps. Now I must go to my mother. She would not like to see me talking to you."