"As you please, my dear friend," replied Dupont, who dared not insist, because the meeting with his friend Jolibois had made him very sheepish; but as they went away he made a sign to the waiter.

They returned to the boulevard; it was a dull, damp day, and there was some mud on the pavement; but, as it was a Sunday, there was a great throng on the boulevards, for there are mult.i.tudes of people in Paris who are determined to walk out on Sunday, whatever the weather, and who, when the rain begins to fall in torrents, vanish only to reappear a moment later, armed with umbrellas, and stroll along, looking in the shop windows, as if the sun were shining.

Dupont offered Georgette his arm; he did not know how to begin the conversation, being sadly embarra.s.sed. The girl enjoyed his confusion for some minutes, then began:

"Well, Monsieur l'Americain from Brives-la-Gaillarde, has your meeting with your friend Jolibois made you dumb? Really, that would be a pity, you say such pretty things sometimes!"

Dupont tried to recover his self-possession, and replied:

"My charming neighbor, I confess that that meeting was not very agreeable to me!"

"Oh! I believe you there!"

"In the first place, Jolibois was drunk; it was easy enough to see that he'd been drinking too much, for he didn't know what he was saying. He recognized me--and then he took me for somebody else."

Georgette stopped, looked her escort squarely in the face, and said in a very sharp tone:

"Monsieur Dupont, do you take me for a fool?"

"I, mademoiselle? G.o.d forbid! On the contrary, I have every reason to know that you have a very keen intellect, that you reason perfectly, and that you are also exceedingly shrewd and satirical."

"In that case, monsieur, don't try to go on with the lies you have told me, in which, by the way, I never placed much faith: for you are much more like a Limousin than an American. You were never an American. You came to Paris from Brives-la-Gaillarde, as your friend Jolibois has just told you. But what I am least able to forgive is your pa.s.sing yourself off as a widower while your wife is still living! Fie, monsieur! to deny your wife is a shameful thing!"

Dupont saw that he must abandon falsehood.

"Mademoiselle," he faltered. "Well, yes--it is true--I admit it. But I was so anxious to make your acquaintance! And if I had told you I was married, you wouldn't have consented to receive me."

"Why not? On the contrary, it would have given me more confidence in you. I would have said: 'Here's a man who doesn't try to deceive me.'--But to pretend to be a widower--to attempt to play the bachelor here, while your poor wife is lamenting your absence, no doubt!"

"Oh, no! you may be quite easy in your mind as to that! My wife doesn't lament my absence in the least. She was one of the first to urge me to come to Paris, and to come without her."

"And to pretend to be a bachelor?"

"I don't say that she went so far as that; but when a woman allows her husband to travel without her, that means that she is willing he should play the bachelor; for, after all, my dear little neighbor, men aren't nuns, and you understand----"

"Enough, monsieur, enough! not another word on that subject!"

"Very good; I ask nothing better.--But I think I felt a drop of rain."

"Yes, it's raining. Let's go back to the restaurant; there will probably be room now."

They returned to Bonvalet's, where the waiter made the same reply:

"Everything's taken in the public room; but I happen to have a private room; I advise you to take it quick, or somebody else will get possession."

Dupont looked at Georgette, who replied:

"All right! let's take the private room, as we can't do anything else."

Our gallant was overjoyed. The waiter escorted them into a warm, comfortable, well-closed room, where a table was already laid for two.

"Really, one would think that they expected us!" said Georgette, removing her bonnet and shawl.

"Guests are always expected at a restaurant."

"Of course; but these two covers all laid!"

"It is probably a room in which they never put more than two."

"No matter. Give your order quickly, monsieur, for I am awfully hungry."

"I would like to know what you prefer."

"Oh! I like everything."

"And there is nothing that I don't like; so the matter can be easily arranged."

Dupont ordered a choice, toothsome dinner, with a great variety of wines. He attempted to sit on a sofa beside Georgette; but she compelled him to sit opposite her, on the other side of the table.

"You would be in my way at dinner," she said; "and I don't like to be hampered when I am eating."

"I must not annoy her," said Dupont to himself. "I must go softly, for I have much to be forgiven for. Let's wait till the generous wines arrive."

Georgette did honor to the dinner; but she drank very little, although her companion did his utmost to induce her to, crying, as he filled her gla.s.s with beaune premiere:

"Above all things, don't put water in this wine; it would be downright murder! It's the most delicious beaune there is."

"That makes absolutely no difference to me," replied the girl. "I never drink pure wine. I prefer it with water."

"That's all right with common wines. But this, which costs four francs a bottle--it's sacrilege to put water in it!"

"In that case, my dear Monsieur Dupont, you shouldn't have ordered anything but common wines; then you wouldn't have exposed me to the risk of committing crimes."

Dupont was vexed; but, to compensate himself for his disappointment, he was very careful to drink his own beaune pure, and he resorted to it frequently, to keep up his courage and his gayety. He was beginning to risk an affectionate word or two, when Georgette abruptly interposed, saying:

"Is madame your wife pretty?"

Dupont frowned, as he replied:

"Quite--but not so well built as you--far from it! Ah! if she had your enchanting figure!"

"Are her eyes black or blue?"

"They are--they are green, like a cat's."

"Oh! what a misfortune! You say that your wife has eyes like a cat's?"

"What do I care?--And your mouth is so lovely! Your smile charms me beyond words!"