They drove to the Avenue de Clichy. "Everything on this street is lamentably cheap," she said. "But anything will do."
They got out at a shop which displayed half its wares in the open. When Olga had picked out a pair of stockings which suited her she retired into the shop to effect the change.
She returned smiling, her merriment held in by the odd little folds at her eyes, and Grover walked with her as far as the bus corner.
"Don't tear these," he cautioned her as the bus was stopping.
"I'd do it in a minute," she threw out at him, over her shoulder, "if I thought it would gain me another nice little friend like you."
"There aren't any more like me," Grover declared, envious of the blackguardly rest. "The next one wouldn't let you off so easy."
She laughed, and the little folds made a valiant attempt to throw her last remark off at a tangent. "Sometimes one is lucky, sometimes not."
It was only after the bus had borne her away beyond recall that he reflected, with a start: which way did she mean that? ······· If he had been depressed when he entered Léon's apartment, he was more than ever depressed on returning toward the rue Truffaut. It seemed to him
